Of Muggles and Magic
by Aurette
Summary: A witch struggles to conform in a society that restricts her.  A wizard thinks he has nothing to offer anyone but his duty and, ultimately, his life. An SS/HG Regency Tale. As AU as you get.  M for later chapters.
1. Overture

**AN:** Dear MollysSister. I must apologize for being so terrible at sticking to a prompt. I have decided it must be my eyesight. Here. Let me show you what I mean…

The Original Prompt: Write a Regency! Sense and Sensibility, the Potter Version, with Hermione of course as Miss Elinor Dashwood and Severus as Mr. Edward Farras. Or perhaps even more fun have Hermione be Miss Marianne Dashwood and Severus be Col. Brandon?

All I Could See: Write a Regency! _blurbleblurbleblurbleblurble_ Potter Version _blurb_ Hermione _blurble blurbleblurbleblurble_ and Severus _blurbleblurbleblurble_… See? It's a terrible flaw.

And so I give you 35+ chapters of tea and manners, Empire waists and Superfine coats, obstinate men and stubborn women, Intrigue, Drama, Angst, Romance, and eventually—clutch the pearls—_smut_.

This story is an amalgamation of Jane Austen, Anne Brontë, Charles Dickens, and Elizabeth Gaskell, with a smidgen of Wm. M. Thackeray, and a very healthy dose of J.K. Rowling. It is AU in the truest sense of the term. I do stick to the Potter storyline in the background, but trust me, even that is alternative. You will understand as you read.

It has been alpha-ed by Dressagegrrrl, beta-ed by astopperindeath, and britpicked by HebeGB, who did double duty as Regency checker and did her level best to fend off my worst interpretations of British Society in the 19th Century. I drove myself demented researching facts, so please be kind when you spot an anachronism or a flaw, I truly did my best. If you find a lumpy bit, just squint your eyes until you are past it. Do not feel obligated to point it out, at this point, you will just make me cry.

I own nothing but my fried brain cells.

* * *

_**1812…**_

Hermione watched as more trunks were loaded onto the cart outside her window. The rains had stopped, and Stephen and Thomas were scrambling to get the cart filled and covered with an oilcloth before it started again. Hester and old Mrs. Crabtree were flitting about shouting encouragement and dire threats in that order. Thomas dropped a trunk, and it splashed water on Mrs. Crabtree's apron. Hermione winced and turned away from the window, hoping not to hear the ensuing shouts. She was unsuccessful.

"But why are we moving, mum? I like it ever so much here. I don't want to move. It's so sudden!"

"Hermione, we've been over this before. It is an excellent opportunity for your father. His last paper on Modern Dentistry was highly received, and Sir Dalyrimple told him to come straight away. He needs to strike while the iron is hot, as they say, to help set his reputation in the field. This is an excellent opportunity, child. He has been recognized by the scientific community for his work in proving microscopic animals have an effect on tooth decay. If we move to London, not only will he be able to expand his practice, but he will be able to take on an apprentice and lecture."

"But what about you? You wrote half of that paper yourself. Would it not be possible for you to lecture as well?"

Mrs. Granger snatched the sprigged muslin dress Hermione had been folding into a lump out of her daughter's hand and shook it back out. She took several deep breaths before she gave her daughter an over-bright smile.

"You must treat your things with respect, dear. If you wad them up like that, they will look dreadful when you pull them back out of the trunk. The servants do not need the extra work, and besides, we will have far fewer of them once we get to London, at least for the foreseeable future."

Mrs. Granger carefully folded the dress and placed it in the trunk and followed it with Hermione's matching Spencer.

"As for that paper, I would thank you not to repeat that to anyone. No one but your father knows that I helped to write it. If the world found out his wife was his partner, he would be a laughingstock. I will no longer be helping in your father's surgery."

"But why? You are just as capable as he is, he says as much himself."

"It is not actually fitting for a woman in my position, dear. He has been wonderful in his indulgence of me, but the time has come to put an end to it."

Hermione fell into speechless sputtering before she let out an indignant snort. Her mother shook her head sadly.

"I worry for you, child. As much as I am extremely pleased with your intelligence, I must say that I fear for your common sense. You are eleven years old; surely you know by now that our sex is dependent on the generosity of our husbands' minds. Men like your father are few and far between. It would be best if you took these notions of equality you have and tossed them into the sweepings along with those books on fairy tales you burned when you were seven."

Hermione flopped back onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Mother, I got rid of those books because they were patently foolish. Once I was old enough to understand magic wasn't real, I was incensed. How thoughtless it was to make me believe in such things as a child, only to tear it away with a laugh once I grew older. Now you are trying to get me to believe that women are innately inferior to men after I have spent all my life watching you and father treating each other as equals. It leaves a child hardly able to trust in anything. Is up really up? Is down really down? Are we really moving to London? Is my name really Hermione?" She shoved herself up on her elbows. "And what do you mean less servants? Who are we letting go? How will they get along without us? Have you found them proper employment elsewhere?"

Mrs. Granger sighed and leaned against the trunk.

"Hermione, this _is_ a great opportunity for your father, but I will tell you truthfully that things are going to be a bit desperate for a while. Until he gets his practice up and running, we will be living on a much stricter budget. The cost of living in London is much higher. We have rented a nice house, not as large as this one, but we cannot afford to keep all of the staff. We will only be taking Cook and Mrs. Crabtree – and, yes, I have found placement for everyone else. Of course I did. It is not their fault that we are up and leaving on a few days notice–"

"But wait, what about Stephens? Who's going to look after our horses?"

Her mother let out a shuddering sigh full of pain. "My mare and your pony have been sold to the family that will be taking up this house after us, along with most of the furniture."

"But—!"

"Enough, Hermione," she said in a harsh, clipped tone. "It is for the greater good. Put your tears away, there is no more room for them. You _will_ be brave for your father. You will hurt him terribly if he sees your tears."

Hermione fell silent immediately, choking back her bitter disappointment. Her mother indulged her endless questions on most occasions but never after her voice reached that tone. Hermione swallowed clumsily around the lump of tears in her throat and finished helping her mother pack in silence. The sudden knot of pain in her belly tightened its grip with each thing her mother told her would have to stay behind.

Dinner was a miserable affair, with Hermione and her mother both pretending they were happy about the changes, Mr. John Granger pretending he didn't see the sadness in their eyes, and sniffling Gretchen serving the meal as if it wasn't their last as her employer. The pain in her belly spread up her spine to her head, and after a few bites, she excused herself to retire early.

Once in her room, she changed into her best cotton nightgown, wrapped herself in her nicest shawl, and flopped onto the embroidered seat before her mirror. The reflection of her room looked barren and empty. The crackle of the fire echoed too loudly, and the lone candle on her table seemed too pitiful for the job of illuminating all the empty spaces. Only the furniture that had been sold was left. Her wardrobe, her chest, and her reading chair by the window were gone. She bit her lip against the tears that threatened and unpinned her hair, pulling apart the plaits, hoping the sharp pain in her skull would settle. She closed her eyes and tried to be as resolute and determined as her mother about her fate and dragged her brush slowly through her thick curls.

It was at times like these that she missed Rebecca the most. Her childhood governess had always come in before bed and made a ritual of brushing Hermione's hair out. Her nimble fingers had always made short work of her night plait, and they would often talk about what life would be like when Hermione was grown. Rebecca had never laughed whenever Hermione had said she wanted to study medicine. She'd always told her that she was intelligent enough to do just that.

What a terribly cruel thing to tell a child when it was just a lie. And how terrible and cruel was it that Hermione should still resent that Mr. Landownes had taken her Rebecca away and married her last autumn? Rebecca had been her only friend. The other girls in the village were flighty, stupid beings, and as an only child, Hermione had grown used to being alone. But when Rebecca had come into her life three years before, it had been like the answer to a prayer. And then, like a blown out candle, she was gone again.

Rebecca was very happy now. Hermione had the sudden feeling that it would be a long time before she was happy again.

She didn't want to be petty. It wasn't in her nature. But it was a hard thing to lose one's only friend, and then so quickly after that to lose her home and her pony. At least she was allowed to keep her books.

She looked out the window at the south pasture, recently dug up for seeding. The moon glistened in the muddy puddles that she would never get to inspect for interesting insects again.

The pain in her head increased as her need to cry grew. It was nearly blinding now.

She finished tying off her plait and pulled a cap over her head before staring at her reflection in the mirror. She would not cry. She tilted her chin up and clenched her jaw against the pain. She would not cry. An image of some other little girl riding her beautiful pony flashed before her eyes, and she curled her hands into fists. She would not cry. The knowledge that she would never be allowed to study medicine, scraped down her body like broken glass, and a jagged sob escaped her.

"Oh, please…" she moaned, pleading to the Almighty for strength as her lip started to quiver. She bit it. She was losing her fight. A single tear spilled down her cheek, and when she saw its reflection sparkle in the candlelight, she was overcome with irrational fury. "_No!_"

Hermione groaned as her shout instigated an explosion of pain in her head that instantly dissipated to nothing, taking all the other pains with it. At first she thought that she had gone blind, but then the moonlight filtered back into the room and she turned her head. All light had vanished. Not only had her candle been snuffed out, but the fire in the small grate was out. Blue smoke curled up the flue, where a moment before there had been a warm crackle.

Hermione blinked several times and then a chilled claw seemed to scuttle along her scalp. She instinctively knew that the fire hadn't just gone out. She'd made it happen. The pain in her head had made it happen. She was terrified. She was caught between running for her mother and hiding under the bed.

She took several deep breaths and then pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She couldn't ask for the fire to be relit. She would have to explain.

She couldn't have explained if her life had depended on it. The only thing she understood was that she had done something very, very wrong. Unnatural, old Mrs. Crabtree would call it.

She slowly stood up and made her way into bed. She wrapped herself tightly in her quilts and then resolutely closed her eyes.

It was a long time before she fell asleep.

* * *

The house in London was always full of sounds and smells. Outside, the constant clip-clopping of the carriage horses played on endlessly, while the intermittent sounds of screaming bubbled up from downstairs. Even the stink of blood seemed to seep through the floor and fill her nostrils, just as the smell of rot and decay and horse manure snuck in from the streets.

London was an eleven-year-old girl's perfect idea of hell.

Hermione had given it her best try, she really had, but she hated the city. She hated this house, with its 'convenient' shop-front downstairs. All day long, she couldn't escape the sounds of people in pain as her father tended to an abscessed tooth or cut away rotted gums. She had been isolated from the reality of what her parents' living entailed before. Sure, she had heard cries, but they had been muffled by several layers of stone, not these thin wooden floors, with their threadbare carpets, that made one feel like their feet were going to fall through and land on top of some poor unfortunate patient.

She especially hated the smell of the city, particularly in the summer, or on those days when the wind blew in from the Thames. The unending stench was unbearable. Last week, an old dog had died and had been left on the street to rot for days.

The only day she lived for was Sunday. On Sundays, the city quieted down, and her father's practice was closed. Sundays, they would dress in their best clothes and perhaps walk to the park after church, or go and visit with her father's mother. Her grandmother, Lady Granger, was a disapproving, dried-up stick of a woman, but the stroll to her house was pleasant and the meals were always fine, even if Grandmother didn't allow her to eat at table with the adults. It smelled better in that part of London, as well.

Today was not Sunday. Today was Thursday, and The Hon. Thaddeus Carlisle needed eight teeth pulled. The screaming was horrible.

Hermione retreated to her bedroom, closed the door, climbed under the covers, and stuffed her pillow over her head, but the spine-chilling shrieks and the pitiful begging still bled through.

She started to cry. She was long past trying not to cry anymore. It wasn't a matter of being brave anymore; it was a matter of simply not having the strength to pretend. She could deal with the lowering of her expectations and dreams, but she couldn't pretend she wasn't horrified by what her parents did for a living, even if she knew in her mind that they were potentially saving lives.

Another round of screams rang out through the house, and Hermione added her own.

"_Silence!_" she shouted into her mattress.

The sudden loss of all sound left her feeling like her ears were going to pop. She pulled the pillow off her head and sat up. There was no sound at all.

She turned her head to the window and saw the carriages, both the fine ones pulled by splendid teams of horses, and the hackneys, pulled by weary old nags. They made no noise.

Hermione felt her blood grow cold as she scrambled off the bed and over to the window. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, but they made no sound. She tapped on the window. Nothing. She threw up the sash and was greeted by a cacophony. She slammed the window shut and the silence returned.

Her hair crawled around on her scalp as she made her way across her tiny bedchamber and over to the door. As soon as she opened it, she heard the screaming. She closed it quickly.

She backed away, shaking.

"Oh, Hermione Jean. What have you done now?"

* * *

A man stepped out onto the street of a busy industrial town in the north with a black cape draped over his arm and a valise clutched in his hand. He closed the door behind him firmly and reached up and placed his fingertips against the door for a moment. If the gesture was beseeching, or some form of benediction, it couldn't be told by his expression. That was hard and angry. He spun away from the door and headed off.

He cut a rather imposing figure, as he dodged the cluster of woman plucking poultry in the middle of the street without a spare glance. He had features that could best be described as 'strong,' and worst, could be described with whole paragraphs that dwelt on his nose alone. He was tall and thin, and sported long, black hair, topped with an elegant black John Bull hat. His gaunt frame was draped in a severe black coat, waistcoat, pantaloons and high boots.

Those that saw him for the first time were never sure if he was a cleric or an undertaker.

His face discouraged inquiries.

He headed down the street toward the corner, amidst the clamor of street peddlers, and the bellowing of draymen and their teams, and the ever-present sound of the mills spinning away all over the city.

A young boy, maybe nine years of age, face covered with soot and dirt, hurried up with a broom and swept some horse droppings out of his path.

"There you are, Mr. Snape," the boy said with a gap-toothed smile. The man pulled a coin from his pocket and flicked it. The boy smiled and tugged on his forelock when he'd caught it and fell into step next to the man. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Snape. Is you off to your school again?"

"Indeed," the man replied.

"Then I'll be seeing you at Christmas. You have a good year, Mr. Snape."

"Keep yourself out of trouble, Simon," the man growled, before he headed into the alley towards the canal.

"I will, sir! No more trouble for me, you can count on it!" shouted the boy as he scampered after another potential customer.

The man gave every appearance of being unaware of his surroundings as he left the gloom of the alley, so deep were the thoughts on his face. This was untrue. He was acutely aware of every man, woman, child, dog and rat within a hundred-foot radius of him as he made his way along the towpath. That was why, when he spun into a turn under the bridge and disappeared with the softest pop, he knew no one had seen him.

* * *

The door to the Headmaster's office swung open and the austere-looking man entered. The ancient-looking man behind the desk looked up and smiled with genuine affection.

"Severus! Welcome back. I trust you had a good summer? All is well with your family?"

"My mother is as sour as ever; however, my father's health is failing and he refuses my help. My summer was a mélange of miseries best not spoken of. What about you, Dumbledore? How was your excursion to the Isle of Wight?"

"I always find the fresh sea air delightful. I had a wonderful time, thank you. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you, Headmaster. Now that we have dispensed with the civilities, I would prefer if you explained why you needed to see me right away. I have things to do before the new students arrive tomorrow."

"Of course. It's actually about a new student. Minerva has been in charge of gathering the Muggle students for the new term, but she took ill."

"Is she alright?"

"Perfectly; she's upstairs in the infirmary recuperating as we speak. However, it wasn't until she awoke from her fever this morning that we came to understand that there were a handful of students still on her list that she didn't have time to attend to."

"And you need me to gather a lost lamb?"

"Precisely."

"Fine. Give me his direction, and I will go a'gathering."

"Her."

"Her?"

"I think your hearing is up to snuff, as they say."

"But surely Muggle girls deal better with a woman's touch? And who would we use as a chaperone? Perhaps it would be better to send Pomona."

"I agree, but Pomona is already scurrying after another lost lamb, as is Septima, and Irma won't be here until tomorrow at the earliest. It was you, or Filius. As you know, Hagrid is busy looking after the most important of our incoming charges, and, well, Professor Quirrell might get himself lost."

"And yet you trust him to teach defense."

"I have my reasons, Severus."

"Which you refuse to share, as always."

"I think it best to play my cards close to the vest in this. I have a feeling more is in the wind than just the return of young Mister Potter to the Wizarding world."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"Very well, but if these Muggles decide not to send their precious daughter off to school with me, it will not be my fault."

"Do make every effort, Severus. This child came very late to her magic. She only stabilized in the book in early spring of this year, and I suspect she might be in quite a state. If the lack of a proper chaperone is their only quibble, then you have my permission to be a tiny bit _persuasive_. I expect you to do everything within reason to ensure the child arrives safely tomorrow."

The Headmaster handed over a slip of parchment. A quick look out the window showed that the sun had nearly set. "You'd best be off. Try to blend in a bit." He waved at Snape's attire, with a laugh. "Even when you dress as a Muggle, you scare them."

The gaunt man gave his employer a long-suffering look and then nodded. "I will see what I can do, Headmaster."

* * *

Oh, this is going to be a fun ride…


	2. Emissary

**AN:** No, I am not going to chapspam a story again, but I thought I would get the first three up to get the storyline rolling, so-to-speak.

* * *

"It sounds terribly suspicious to me. No one has ever heard of this school. I have asked around, and I assure you, my society friends haven't either. I think if it sounds too good to be true, it is. The Almighty does not give anything we have not worked for until we deserve it. Besides, it is not as if you have the money to send her off to a fancy finishing school. Or is that what this is all about, John? Are you angling for a loan? Tell me you are not already living above your means now that you have returned to London?"

"Good heavens, no, Mother. Please, I beg you. Try to have a little more faith in me."

Hermione heard the footman's steps approach and slipped back away from the doorway and scurried to the steps leading up to the old nursery. She was livid. How dare that old battle axe imply her father was trying to beg money from her? And what had she ever done to deserve her wealth? She was only the widow of a Baronet. Her own father had been a merchant. It wasn't as if she was even that high up the social ladder.

Hermione's father was a fourth son, and therefore, quite out of the running as far as any serious money was concerned, but he made a good living with his practice. It was more than enough to supplement his and her mother's meager competencies. Hermione had eavesdropped on enough of their conversations, since that first serendipitous letter from the school, to know that they were sure they could afford the fees.

She heard more footsteps and scrambled back up to the neglected nursery in her stocking feet, gripping her kidskin slippers and her muslin skirts in her hands so she could move quickly and as quietly as a mouse.

She barely had time to retie the ribbons on her shoes before Charles, the footman, appeared in the doorway.

"Lady Granger has asked that Miss Granger join them in the parlor," he said with stiff grace.

"Thank you, Charles."

Hermione followed him out the door without a backwards glance. With any luck, that would be her last meal in this dreadful room.

"Come in, child, don't skulk about in the doorway."

"Sorry, Grandmother. I wasn't intending to skulk."

She received a withering stare for her impudence and sent her father a worried look. He smiled and winked at her.

"So, gel. I hear you are to be sent off to finishing school." Lady Granger put her spectacles up to her eyes and made a production of looking Hermione up and down. "I highly doubt this school is even worth it. She might come from good family, but she is plain as an ox and those teeth of hers are rather off putting. The dancing instructor you wasted on her reported that she had not grace, nor balance. Sadly, I think any more finishing would be folly. Save your money."

"Mother, I won't have you speak about my child so. She is merely eleven. There is plenty of time for her to come into her beauty."

"John, do not lie to yourself. Even her hair rebels against good society."

Hermione lifted her hand up and touched her carefully pinned braids and felt the mild fuzz that always resulted from the damp. The misty rain that had started as they walked here had ruined her style again.

"Enough," said her father. He stood, and with a quick nod to his wife, he turned to Hermione. "Say your farewells, daughter. It will be quite some time before you see your grandmother again."

Hermione felt her heart swell at her father's blatant rudeness and her grandmother's frozen-stone expression. That he would walk out before the luncheon was officially over, in her defense, spoke more than any words. And her father had never been one to stint on words, either.

She curtsied prettily. "Thank you, Grandmother, for allowing me this lovely visit. I enjoyed it ever so much."

Her mother turned her towards the door, away from Lady Granger's stony silence.

"Well, done, love," her mother whispered in her ear as they headed for the foyer. Behind them, there was an angry murmuring as Mr. John Granger locked horns with Lady Andrew Granger.

He joined them at the door just as Charles arrived with their hats and gloves.

Together, the three headed out into the misty drizzle.

* * *

Hermione paced back and forth across her small room listening for the sound of a carriage over the sound of the driving rain. Three paces back, followed by three paces forth, and she had covered the whole of it twice over. Outside, the wind howled as the rain lashed the window. The late summer storm was fierce, and the occasional lightning streaked across the sky, temporarily blinding her.

Her trunks were packed and waiting by the stairs. She had her own valise ready to go and her Spencer and gloves were waiting on the bed next to her best bonnet. She sighed. Even the fastest dash to a carriage would destroy her poor bonnet.

If she was going to be dashing at all.

Her father had developed last minute reservations in the face of a last minute cancellation. The school governess, Miss McGonagall, had charmed and delighted her parents when her letters had arrived last August, but then she had failed to show at their scheduled meeting yesterday, and they had only received a note of explanation this morning. Whomsoever the school sent in her place would have to be rather impressive to get beyond her father's sense of injured dignity.

Another turn, another three paces, and she was back at her window, staring down at the rain pounding on the front steps below.

A violent flash of lightning revealed a man standing on the steps staring up at her window. The following flashes confirmed he was, in fact, looking right into her eyes. The subsequent crash and roll of thunder muffled the abrupt scream that she barely managed to stifle as she flew backwards three and a half steps and slammed up against her bedroom door.

A loud knocking echoed from down below. _Please don't let that be someone from the school_, she begged. She was convinced that whoever was at the door was absolutely the most terrifying person she'd ever laid eyes on. She gathered up her courage and set her shoulders. It didn't make a difference if it was or not. Hermione was going to that school tonight if she had to sneak out. She loved her parents dearly, but if she spent anymore time in this city, she would go mad. She was already going mad. What other explanation could there be for what had been happening to her. She was going, come hell or high water.

She stepped back over to the window, where another flash of storm revealed that the water down below was quite high, indeed.

"Hermione, dear," her mother called through the door. "Come and meet Master Snape."

* * *

Master Snape was decidedly less terrifying when seen looking half drowned whilst dripping on the faded carpet, next to the grate. And yet, somehow he didn't look any more pleasant, either. His clothes, despite their sodden state, were of a fine cut. His bottle green jacket and dun-colored waistcoat spoke of good taste. His elegant, yet simple, cravat and his highly-polished boots spoke of both wealth and restraint.

As she sank into her best curtsey, it occurred to her that he might just possibly be the ugliest man she had ever seen, despite his fine clothes.

"Tell me, Schoolmaster, what is your subject at this… _Hogwarts _School for the Gifted?"

Hermione's heart sank, when she realized her father was supremely underwhelmed by the man slowly soaking the floor near the fire. She sent the stranger a beseeching look, and his dark eyes widened a fraction, before he looked to her father.

Master Snape cleared his throat. "My specialty involves the Sciences," he said in a shockingly deep voice.

"Ah," her father said, with an echo of his mother's voice. "A man of _science_. A _northern_ man of science, unless I am mistaken by your accent?"

The schoolmaster bristled, and she watched as he nodded his head with a strained twitch of the lips that she suspected was supposed to be a polite smile.

"You must have some interesting views about science, seeing as life in the north has clearly benefited so greatly from the industrialization."

Master Snape's eyes flashed, and he flicked a quick glance at her, as if wondering if she were worth the insult. She returned a brittle smile of her own.

"It is, as you say, much changed. I will let history decide if it is a change for the better, or for the worse. I am too busy teaching my charges to have any worthy comment and will let honorable men such as yourself fill the air with opinion, instead."

Hermione sucked in a breath, realizing that her chances of making it out the door had most likely just died under the onslaught of Master Snape's subtle rebuke.

Mrs. Crabtree came waddling in, lugging the tea tray just in the nick of time.

Her mother practically lunged at the tray and began to pour. "Won't you have a seat, Master Snape? Our furniture will survive your damp assault, I am sure," she said with a warm smile. "How do you take your tea?"

The schoolmaster nodded his head politely and, after fastidiously flicking the tails of his coat out of the way, perched on the edge of the chair across from the settee with a striking amount of grace. He crossed one long leg over the other and said, "Milk and sugar, if you please, madam."

He reached forward and took his cup, and Hermione saw his manners were precise and unaffected, far less affected than her Grandmother's and far more elegant. He appeared to be a gentleman of some standing, aside from his teaching duties.

Hermione sat on the cushion next to her mother and bit her lip. From what she could decipher, her mother had chosen sides against her husband's rudeness. There was still hope.

"I understand your colleague has taken gravely ill," Mr. Granger drawled. "What reassurances can you give me that I am not sending my daughter off to a school with a pestilential atmosphere?"

Hermione felt her hope wither ever smaller.

"Is she well? Your Miss McGonagall?" Hermione threw out into the room.

Every head swiveled in her direction, and she suddenly wanted to sink through the settee and straight down into the surgery below them. A chorus of 'children are seen not heard' played in her head.

"She is well enough and is expected to be fully recovered by tomorrow," he replied gently.

"I thought she was taken with fever," her father mused. "That's what the note we received this morning said."

Master Snape looked nonplussed for a moment. "It was a minor illness, but there was fever, yes. She is under the school's best care."

"I thought this school was in Scotland. How the devil was she supposed to pick my daughter up yesterday, if she was languishing in Scotland with some mysterious ailment?"

Master Snape seemed to turn a slight shade of green.

"Forgive me. I misspoke. I have been traveling all day, and I find I am not at my best. She is in a care facility associated with our school. It is not far from here."

"What is the name of this care facility? Are we talking about a private hospital?" Mr. Granger's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Pomfrey House is a very exclusive place of healing. Only available to students, faculty and alumni."

"Do they teach medicine at Hogwarts?" Hermione blurted again. She sank her teeth into her lip to try and stem her stupidity and poor manners.

"Hermione," her mother pleaded. "I'm sure if they did, it would still not be a part of the curriculum they offer to young ladies. Tell, her, Master Snape. Tell her about the subjects she would be partaking in."

Snape caught her eye, and for the briefest moment, she felt like she might fall into his gaze.

"History, Mathematics, Science, Horticulture, Charm, Greek, Latin, French, Dance, Music, and Deportment."

Silence filled the room and Master Snape cocked his head to the side as if wondering what he had done wrong.

"That is a lot of education for a girl," Mr. Granger said with no small amount of awe in his voice. "Master Snape, I am going to ask again why my Hermione? Why have we never heard of this school before? Surely it would make waves with such a broad and, dare I say, a nearly scandalous amount of learning opportunities for young women?"

"Mr. Granger, the school is private, because it does not wish to be crushed under the weight of all the people who would desire to have their children attend if it were known about. As for why your daughter, I will ask you a question first. Have you ever looked at your daughter and known that she was different? Have you ever seen a way about her and thought she was not quite of this world? That perhaps she had a destiny?"

Again, the silence in the room was nearly insurmountable. Hermione felt her heart hammering in her chest and discreetly rubbed her hands against the skirts of her linen gown.

The schoolmaster turned his black, crow eye on her and asked, "Have you not ever felt different, child? Have you not, perhaps, felt like there was something about you that made you feel as if you didn't quite belong in the mundane world of others?"

He knew. It was a ludicrous thought–how could anyone know?—and yet, somehow, she felt in her bones that he knew she was different, and he didn't seem to find that a bad thing.

"Yes," she answered in a dry voice, tilting her chin up and giving him a challenging stare.

"My daughter is a highly intelligent girl, Master Snape," her mother said in a soft voice. "As my old nurse used to say, 'every crow thinks her own a swan.' Setting aside a mother's natural tendency to think her children special, I will try to impress on you one point. My daughter truly is brighter than other children, boy or girl."

"My wife speaks the truth," her father said.

Hermione stared at her parents, overcome with emotion at the sheer amount of defiant pride in their voice. Her mother may have spent all these months in London trying to dispel Hermione's notion of someday using her brains, but plainly, her mother was still proud as a peacock that her daughter had them.

"This is why your daughter was chosen. Our alumni are always on the lookout for a child that is out of the ordinary. Your daughter was selected for her singular qualities. If you allow her to attend our school, her talents will be honed, her skills fully developed, and a world of opportunity will be made available to her that will not exist ever again, if you chose a different path for her. However, I must ask that you decide quickly. I have a long journey ahead of me, one that will be even longer if you chose to let me take your daughter with me. I would need to make a start soon. If you have any further questions, I must insist that you ask them now."

Hermione looked at her parents with her heart in her throat and her desire plain in her eyes.

"Please let me go," she whispered.

* * *

Hermione stood in the entryway of her house while her parents, Cook, and Mrs. Crabtree all fussed over each other about how much they were going to miss her. She watched as Master Snape stood out in the rain under her father's umbrella to call a hack. How he expected one to see him in the pouring rain in the dark was beyond her. A flash of lightning off on the horizon showed him at the edge of the pavement, holding up what looked like a baton. To her surprise, a large coach pulled right up to the curb as if it had been waiting for just that signal. Everyone scrambled to hug her one more time as the driver climbed down and exchanged words with the schoolmaster.

Master Snape returned to the steps and held out his hand.

"I'll write to you every day," she called over her shoulder to her weeping parents, as she took her teacher's hand and hurried down the stairs. He guided her to the carriage just as another flash of light revealed the driver huddled in his seat above, and another man tending her trunk and bags. Thunder crashed, and she jumped, and Snape placed a steadying hand on her shoulder before opening the door and helping her in. As she fell into the seat behind the driver, she realized she no longer thought Master Snape the ugliest man she'd ever seen. The coachman took the cake.

The coachman stuck his head in the door to say something, but her teacher cut him off. "To The Leaky, Mr. Shunpike."

"Aye, Per'fessor, and welcome to the Knight Coach, Miss."

"Thank you, er…"

"Stan," the man said, whipping off his cap and splattering her with water.

"Get this blasted thing moving," snapped Master Snape, as he took off his top hat and let the water drain off the brim onto the carpeted floor.

The carriage door closed with a slam.

Hermione leaned forward and waved uselessly to her parents through the rain. The coach started with a lurch, and she fell forward and hit the rear seat.

"Sit back and settle down, Miss Granger. I am in no mood to deal with foolish injuries."

"Yes, Master Snape."

"Professor Snape."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You will address me by my proper title. I am Professor Severus Snape; you will refer to me as such."

"Of course, Professor. As you wish."

They settled into silence and she studied the strange man staring out the window at the streets that seemed to whip by whenever she caught a glimpse. The flickering light from the receding storm illuminated his prodigious nose, as well as his angry eyes. He saw her staring at him and snatched the curtain closed. It was as if he simply disappeared, so dark was it inside the carriage now.

Hermione felt a lump settle in her belly. Had she made a mistake? Any feelings she'd had that this man might understand her had evaporated as soon as the carriage set off. She went back over everything about this strange evening, and it occurred to her that her parents might have given him a slightly exaggerated idea of her abilities.

"Professor Snape?"

"What?" His voice, clipped and imperious in the darkness.

"I can't dance."

"How tragic."

"What I mean to say is, I have no balance. I'm just not that graceful. I'm not that accomplished in music either. As for Deportment, well, let's just say that I am far better at French…"

"Forget French."

"I'm sorry?"

"There will be no French."

She wished she could see him in the darkness to know if this was some sort of joke.

"I'm not following you, sir."

She heard the creak of leather as he sat forward in his seat. His voice came from just in front of her, and she wondered if his strange black eyes could see in the dark.

"There is no French. There is no Deportment. There most certainly is no class on Charm in the sense that you would understand. However—"

With each of his words, a new band of fear squeezed her heart. "Sir! I must ask you to turn this carriage around."

"—there _is_ an extensive study of Potions—"

"Sir! Please! I don't understand why you lied to me and my parents, but I won't cause you the slightest bit of trouble, if you just return me to my home."

"—Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense against Dark Arts, Astronomy, and, of course, The—"

Fear gave way to panic. "_TAKE ME HOME RIGHT NOW, YOU CLAP-ADDLED BOAT-LICKER!_"

"—History of Magic."

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"_What did you just call me?_"

* * *

Reviews feed the muse…

And for the curious, she called him a syphillitic mama's boy. Yup she did.


	3. Illumination

**AN:** If you are enjoying this, thank Dressagegrrrl, astopperindeath and Hebe GB.

* * *

The silent, oppressive darkness in the carriage was broken by the sound of ragged breathing. Hers came in short, hiccupping explosions, and his came in ferocious gusts through his prodigious nose.

She heard the creak of leather as he sat back against his seat, and she slowly pulled her own spine out of the seat she occupied and sat up straight.

"You will explain this insult immediately." His voice was low and threatening. Hermione had read the words "in a deadly voice" in penny-thriller books before. Now she had a rather good idea of what exactly that sounded like. She decided the situation called for bravery, determination, and, perhaps, a bit of honesty.

"To be completely candid, Professor–if indeed that is what you are–I don't actually know what I just called you. I just wanted you to turn the carriage around, and you weren't listening to me."

"I'm of half a mind to do just that. It would serve you right to end your days in ignorance. How does a young lady, such as yourself, the granddaughter of a Baronet, no less, come to have such a foul and wicked mouth?"

"Stephen."

"Stephen?"

"He kept my father's horses before we moved to London."

"Ahhhh. Eavesdropping on the servants, Miss Granger? How coarse you are."

"No, sir! I only eavesdrop on my parents."

"You say that as if that is more acceptable."

"Isn't it mandatory for a child? How else is one to learn their fate, if not from overhearing it?"

"Indeed. You should take care when you listen in on your parents, you risk hearing what they actually think of you."

"I understand, sir."

"Do you?"

"Yes. For instance, I know that both of my parents think I am too plain to ever make a match, and yet they perpetuate the lie that someday I will suddenly transform into a great beauty. My father will even risk insulting his own mother to defend my nonexistent hope of future appeal. I detest lies. Adults lie to children all the time and then act confused when we believe them. They tell me I can be anything I want to be when I am seven and then treat me like a simpleton for actually assuming I could become a doctor when I am eleven. Was I simply to pick up the truth along the way by some form of mental absorption? It is a strange thing to know that the only people in the world who love you see nothing brighter in your future than being a governess someday."

"Believe me, Miss Granger. There are worse things a parent can think of their child. Now, if you didn't pick up your vocabulary from skulking after your servants with your ears wiggling, how exactly did you come to your, shall we say, colorfully ignorant euphemisms?"

"I would think the answer obvious."

"Pretend I'm slow."

"Surely, I must have asked him to teach me?"

"So you must have," he drawled.

"Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"Barely, but it will suffice for now."

"Will you turn the carriage around and return me to my family now?"

"No."

The fear that had dissipated during their nearly polite exchange came stabbing back with vigor.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Do with you? I'm going to take you to school, you silly little girl."

"There really is a school?"

"Of course. What other reason would there be for me to confine myself in a carriage with a foul-mouthed little hoyden?"

"But you said…"

The leather creaked again, and she pressed herself back against her seat as she felt him draw near.

"What did I say, Miss Granger? Where you even listening? Or were you too busy rudely interrupting?"

"No, sir. I heard you quite clearly. You admitted to having lied to my parents about the curriculum and then went jabbering on about some other courses of study with obviously fraudulent names."

"Such as?"

"Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense against Dark Arts, Astronomy–that one sounds rather exciting–and…"

"And?"

"I admit, I must have misheard you with the last one. I thought for a wild moment that you had said there was a course on the History of–"

"_Lumos._"

"—Magic…"

Hermione's words trailed off into silence, as the carriage filled with a cold blue light emanating from the tip of Mast–_Professor_ Snape's baton. His eyes stared at her intently, judging her reaction as if it was some sort of test. She struggled as the urge to cry welled up and didn't know if it was because she was frightened, shocked, or _relieved_. She swallowed with difficulty and took a deep breath, before lifting her chin and reaching out to touch the cold light.

He pulled the baton out of reach, muttering, and with a flick, the light leapt to the ceiling of the coach, where it spread out and pulsed.

"A Gryffindor, or I'll eat my hat. No wonder I find you so annoying. Mustn't touch what isn't yours, Miss Granger."

"Gryffindor?" she whispered absently, whilst staring at the light pulsing on the ceiling. "How did you do that?"

"Then again, perhaps a Ravenclaw. It's magic, Miss Granger. It is the real reason you were selected for our school. You are a witch."

Hermione's head snapped back down to the man sitting across from her smirking with what looked suspiciously like contempt.

"I admit to having a rude temper, Professor Snape, but even you must see that I was fairly pushed to my limit from the fear that I was being carried off as some sort of plot. I see no reason for you to call me insulting names in return. You are the adult in this situation. I am most disappointed in you. I had thought you quite the gentleman up until now."

"I imagine with a slight pause whilst you assumed I was a kidnapper?"

"Obviously."

For the first time she saw a gleam of what might have been an amused expression.

"I did _not _insult you, girl. I was _explaining_. I am one of your teachers; it will be a common occurrence. You should also know that I seldom explain things _twice,_ so pay attention."

He began to flick his baton in sharp and increasingly more complex patterns. In the blink of an eye, they were both dry, wrinkle free, and warm. She lifted up her hand and touched the brim of her bonnet and smiled to find it back in its proper shape.

"Magic. Miss Granger. You are a magic user. You were born with an innate talent that separates you from the Muggles–_Non_-magic users, such as your parents. Females are referred to as witches. Males are called wizards. We hide from the rest of Muggle society, so we don't end up burned at the stake anymore. Your magic was dormant for far longer than is usual. My notes reflect that although your name flickered several times in the book, it did not darken enough to add you to the list until this past spring. That means your magic didn't become an integral part of you until then. Usually, it manifests at a much younger age."

"It did," she whispered.

"Did it, now?"

"I made my dolls dance in my grandmother's garden once. I was six or seven at the time. When I ran to tell my parents what I had done, they were quite angry at me. My grandmother took great pains to let me know how foolish I was and that magic didn't actually exist. I was so ashamed. It never happened again."

She dropped her gaze down to her lap. "I threw all of my fairy books and magical stories in the rubbish fire when we returned to the country after that." A fat tear finally escaped and rolled down her face.

"Magic is a strange thing, Miss Granger. The link between a witch and her magic can be intuitive. It is possible that you understood even then that there was a threat if you were to be discovered, and you made your own magic go dormant, until it simply couldn't lay dormant any longer."

"It was another lie. They lied to me again." She scrubbed angrily at her face. "You cannot trust what people tell you. Only what you read in books."

"That is utter nonsense."

"I don't believe you."

His head snapped back and he gaped at her, plainly insulted. "I'm one of your instructors. Why on earth wouldn't you believe me?"

"Because I haven't read it in a book yet."

"You had better rid yourself of that foolishness, you silly little girl. I will have an enormous amount of knowledge to impart to you and little time for idiocy."

"And I will willingly absorb the needed information when it is confirmed by a text."

By the time the coach came to a stop, they were sitting on opposite sides of the carriage with their arms crossed. He was glaring at her openly, and she was only slightly less subtle and minutely deferential in her defiance.

The door whipped open, and Hermione saw a man who beat out both Professor Snape and the coachman in sheer ugliness. He was bald and hunchbacked, with thick lips and snaggled teeth and a large hairy wart on his nose. He was standing in the pouring rain and yet was quite dry.

"Welcome back to The Leaky Cauldron, Professor. I see yeh have another Muggle. Yer colleagues brought their charges here as well, but they've all retired for the evening already. We have yer rooms all made up for yeh. Not the best, mind, but we're full up. Here, Miss, allow me."

The doorman pulled out his own baton and flicked it at her, before reaching for her hand. He steadied her as she stepped down from the coach and into the pouring rain. Her tensed body relaxed when she realized that not a single raindrop landed on her. She beamed up at the hunchback, and he smiled warmly.

"Oh, I do love the Muggle firsties. They always make me heart grow warm," the doorman said with a laugh.

She twisted around to her teacher and smiled, as he cancelled the light in the coach and followed her onto the street.

"This is marvelous!" she blurted.

"Are you sure? You haven't confirmed that with a text yet," her professor quipped snidely.

* * *

Severus Snape entered The Leaky Cauldron with Miss Granger in tow. He stopped and allowed her a chance to take in the atmosphere of the place. Witches and wizards conversed loudly at the bar, while still more came and went through the large Floo. Mugs and platters sailed through the air bearing food and drink to those crowded around the private tables. A careless elbow knocked a glass off a rail and it fell to the floor with a smash, only to leap back up and reassemble itself with a flick of a wand.

The girl's eyes widened and her face was an open book, telling a tale of wonder and enchantment, quickly followed by overexcitement that became subsumed with nervous trepidation. She sank her teeth into her lip and took two small steps closer to him, stopping only when she actually bumped into his arm.

"Tatterwing, could you show us to our rooms? I believe Miss Granger has had quite enough adventure for the night."

The girl gave him a look filled with thankful relief.

"Right this way, Miss Granger. Up the stairs now."

They followed the hunchback up out of the common room and along the gallery rail to their door. Tatterwing opened it and gestured with a bow and a flourish.

They entered into a tiny sitting room, lit with floating candles and a warm fire. There was also a small round table with two chairs perched at it, a desk against one wall, and two other doors along the back wall.

"The Miss's room is to the left, her bags and trunk are already there. Yer room is to the right. Yer things are there as well. Would either of yeh like a bit of something from the kitchens? I spot of tea, perhaps? We have some lovely ginger biscuits today. I set some aside for meself, but the little miss looks like her need might be greater."

"If you would, Tatterwing. That would be most welcome, I'm sure."

"No problem, Professor, no problem at all. In fact, I might could even suggest–"

"That will be quite enough, thank you. Leave us."

"As yeh wish."

Snape pulled out his watch and cast a quick look at it. Shockingly, it wasn't quite as late as he'd thought it was. The evening had only seemed interminable.

"Make yourself comfortable, Miss Granger," he said to the girl, as she stood rooted to the floor staring at the floating candles and clutching her reticule like a talisman. She turned to him, a startled expression on her face, and he wondered if she had actually forgotten he was there.

"How do they stay up?" she asked, gesturing at the candles.

"Magic."

The girl had the cheek to roll her eyes at him. "Obviously, but there has to be some force involved, some physical manifestation that cancels out Newton's Law."

"And just what do you know about Newtonian Physics?"

"Only what my father explained to me. I did try to read the book, but I admit most of the words went over my head. My Latin is not of the caliber required to understand the nuance."

Snape felt his eyebrows lift despite his desire not to react. The scales were tipping towards Ravenclaw again. What a strange child. He didn't think he'd ever encountered one quite like her in all his years of teaching.

The tea tray appeared on the table with a pop and she let out a squeak. She took a determined breath and lifted her chin, as she pulled off her gloves and unpinned her bonnet.

Gryffindor. Most definitely.

"Tea, Professor? Milk and sugar, yes?" she asked, as if she were a tiny lady of the manor. The effect was spoiled by her futile tugging at the knot she'd made of the bow under her chin.

"If you would be so kind, Miss Granger. I have some things to fetch for you while you pour."

He headed into his room and quickly found the stack of books, cinched together with a buckled leather strap. He dropped his hat and gloves on the chest, ran his hand through his hair, and looked longingly at his bed. He suspected it would be some time before he was permitted to sink into that inviting pillow.

He headed back into the sitting room.

"Miss Granger, we will be leaving early in the morning to purchase your school supplies. However, earlier today I took the liberty of procuring your textbooks in advance," he set the pile on the table and quickly freed them from the strap. "I think you might start with this one tonight." He handed her a brand-new copy of Hogwarts, A History.

Her eyes widened, and she beamed at him, as if he was the greatest human being she had ever encountered. He blinked, thoroughly flummoxed.

"Thank you, sir. I shall be diligent in my studies."

"Indubitably."

* * *

Snape lay stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts raced in circles, pricking at the knot of pain between his eyes. He longed for sleep, and yet he had promised the chit one more hour of candlelight to read. Gods, but she read fast. He'd abandoned her to her own devices to escape the endless questions.

He had to admit, she was a decent distraction.

Now he had nothing left to think about but the fact that the Potter boy would be arriving tomorrow. That fact had been eating at his gut throughout his whole summer. These past eleven years had been nothing more than one long countdown to what he knew was his doom.

His duty was to help protect the boy. Not much different than any of his other charges, but this boy was different. This one should have been his.

What would he be like? Would he look like Lily? Would he be smart and clever and endlessly patient like his mother? Or would he be a bullying dunce like his father? A prematurely dissipated rake, like his godfather? Not that Black ever had any influence over the boy, thank Jove for that. Azkaban was too good for that one. No, young Mister Potter had been left to the care of that blasted Petunia and the chicken-nabob she was reported to have married.

Snape had wanted to care for the boy. He'd wanted to be a guiding force in the boy's life. But his constitution simply rebelled against the fact that the boy belonged to James Potter. He hoped that when he finally set eyes on the child he would see Lily instead. That would make things so much easier. It might even alleviate this feeling of dark destiny. Perhaps, if he were able to make his peace with the child, he would no longer spend so much time wondering why, at the age of only one and thirty, he was convinced his time was running out.

He scowled and pulled his watch out, to distract himself from his own maudlin thoughts. He'd been staring at his ceiling for two hours. He hissed like a cat and sprang up off the bed, whipping open his bedroom door.

"Miss Granger–" He turned his head from the table to the desk, where he found her frozen in the act of scribbling notes. She looked to have three feet of parchment covered already. Merlin spare him, the girl fancied herself an essayist. He was sure her assignments would be pure hell.

"Miss Granger, please observe common decency and go to _bed_. We have an early day tomorrow and some of us actually need to rest."

"Yes, sir. My apologies, sir, I lost track of the—"

"Spare me your lengthy explanations. Please. I abhor them. I will ask you to keep that fact in mind in the very near future, if you will."

With an angry, "_Nox_," he put out every candle in the sitting room, leaving her in only the dancing light of the fire.

He shut the bedroom door behind him and stripped off his cravat. By the time he was reaching for his nightshirt, he heard the bed in the next room creaking.

_Finally._

He dropped down onto his own bed with the heavy sigh of imminent relief.

* * *

Are we having fun yet?


	4. Impressions

**AN: Happy New Year to All!** Thank you, so much for this incredible response to what was, without a doubt a blind leap off a cliff. Also, PLEASE applaud Hebe GB, who has had the terrible job of telling me some of our fav bits had to go for the greater good. Not fun, but necessary. Love you, Duck.

* * *

Hermione woke up and dressed quickly into a fresh shift and her second best gown. She'd worn her best yesterday. She hurriedly brushed out her hair and parted off the front section, pulling the back up tightly and twisting it in her best impression of what Rebecca had taught her. She never quite got it right. She carefully chose non-ink stained fingers to lick and used a little spit to defrizz the curls around her face and hoped it would pass muster. She stared at her reflection and sighed, but her frown was slowly replaced by an extremely unladylike grin.

_Magic_. She hadn't been in danger of being carted off to Bedlam. Her magic was escaping her control.

She may be as plain as a ha'penny, but she was a witch, by all the graces. That was something far more intriguing than beauty.

She snapped out of her reverie and jumped up from the mirror. She quickly made her bed, carefully tucking the fold around the lump of pillow, and did her best not to wad her nightgown too badly before repacking her things in her trunk. She realized she wouldn't be able to get all of her new books to fit. She bit her lip, but then stacked the books and buckled them together with the strap.

She grabbed up her bonnet, gloves and the butter-yellow Spencer that always made her look ill. It was the only one that matched her gown, unfortunately. Perhaps if it was warm enough, she could simply not wear it. She headed out into the sitting room, just as the other bedroom door flew open.

"Good morning, Prof—What are you wearing, if I may ask, sir?"

"Robes. We aren't Muggles; we don't dress like them unless we are trying to hide in their society. You are warned not to try to look too Muggle in Wizarding society. It can draw attention from undesirable people."

She smoothed a hand down her dress. "This is all I have, sir. I only have the three dresses."

"We will be purchasing you your school uniforms, which you will wear at all times during school hours. I only caution you about your leisurewear."

"And will the school robes be anything like that?" she asked, waving a hand in his direction.

He scowled and bristled like a cat.

"Why?"

"Because I think you look quite splendid, sir."

"You—Ah… thank you."

And he did. He looked well-rested, although there were still lines of stress on his face that she thought might be permanent. He was dressed in long embroidered robes, with a voluminous outer robe on top. They were unrelieved black, but they somehow suited him more than his previous haberdashery had. The only thing they had in common with normal dress, or Muggle dress, as she would have to get used to saying, was a waistcoat and cravat.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had gone, so she moved to the table, where breakfast waited, and placed her books next to her plate with a muffled thump.

"You won't have any time to read until you're on the Thestral carriages later. There is no use lugging your books about."

"I'm afraid they might get lost. They don't all fit in my trunk."

He pulled out his wand and, with a flick, the pile of books shrank until they would fit in the palm of her hand. She let loose with a delighted laugh.

"I love magic! It's the most marvelous thing in the world!"

He gave her an odd look as she jumped up and went to stuff her now tiny pile of books in her trunk.

After breakfast they headed downstairs, where the professor stopped to greet a few other people, without bothering to introduce her. She waited patiently for him to finish his conversation, before, with an imperious gesture, he urged her to follow him out the backdoor of the inn.

She practically had to trot to keep up, and she constantly skipped to the side to avoid being enveloped by his billowing robes. A quick tap on a brick wall and she stood and watched in surprise as the bricks shifted to reveal a wonderland.

"This is Diagon Alley," he said in a bored tone. "It is the main shopping district and the heart of the Wizarding community."

He headed for the closest shop, with an elaborate sign swinging above the door saying, 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.' A cluster of redheaded people suddenly swarmed the door, and Hermione had to check herself before she barreled into her teacher, so swiftly did he stop.

"And there is Arthur Weasley and his brood. Come. We'll head elsewhere first."

She scampered along at his side.

"Are they not people of quality? All those redheads? Should I avoid them?"

He stopped short again and looked at her. "You would take my word as to whom you should and shouldn't deal with?"

"Well, I'd rather form my own opinions, but your thoughts would carry a certain weight, yes. I trust you."

"When did that happen. Last night you thought I was trying to abduct you for nefarious purposes that shall remain forever unspoken."

"I do apologize for that. You have proven yourself a truthful man, and I sense that you are very honorable. Until you prove otherwise, I trust you implicitly on things pertaining to the social mores and customs of your world."

He flashed her a look she couldn't interpret. "The Weasleys are a fine family. An old, pureblood family. However, when one encounters them _en masse_, they are more than a little overwhelming." He cocked his head to the side suddenly and blurted, "Why did you ask this Stephen to teach you such dreadful language. I had thought it was because you were of low character, but it would appear that is not the case."

She blushed to the roots of her hair. "A gentleman would not bring that up."

"I'm not—" He huffed and started walking. "Answer the question, Miss Granger."

"It was after Althea's garden party. I had been forced to go to another of her wretched teas, with all of the wretched girls in the village."

"Not up to snuff for a Baronet's granddaughter?"

Hermione stopped short. She could feel anger suffusing her face. It took him a few steps before he realized and turned back. He raised one eyebrow and came back to her.

"Quite the contrary, sir. I was the one who held the lowest social class, a fact I could care less for, unless I am forced by the demands of polite society to choke down watery milk tea, and my pride, while I endure unrelenting slights. In those moments, I care very much. I hate it. I asked Stephen to teach me how to curse up a storm because I wanted to be able to look all those judgmental magpies in the eye, whilst reciting my actual opinion of them in the privacy of my own head."

"Only in private?"

She felt herself color again. "Yes."

"So I am the first one to be honored thusly?"

"As you say."

He looked at her and smirked, before he spun on his heel and began walking again. She hurried after him.

"I have good news and I have bad news for you, Miss Granger. Wizarding society doesn't have a gentry, per se. There are no titles to split hairs over. No Dukes, no Earls, no lowly Baronets. However, we are not without our striations. Our society is split into Purebloods, those that can trace their ancestors back to the age of Merlin himself, and—"

"Muggleborns, like me. I know. I read it in Hogwarts, A History last night. I understand there have been ferocious arguments against allowing my kind in."

He looked at her, and she detected the slightest flash of something indefinable, before his eyes clouded with irritation.

"Do not make a habit of interrupting me, Miss Granger. Had we been in school, you would have just lost house points." He pulled open the door of the shop they had stopped in front of, and she scurried in after him.

It was while he was tearing apart a stack of cauldrons, thumping each one and tossing it aside, that she had her first taste of the darker side of the Wizarding world.

She was watching him intently, trying to understand what he was searching for from what he was rejecting. He gave a satisfied nod and was about to hand the cauldron to her, when they were interrupted by a polite cough. She looked up at the same time as he did and saw a rather handsome, and very distinguished-looking man, with sweeping robes of velvet and silk and an elegant walking stick.

"Malfoy."

"Snape."

The man looked at her, flicking his eyes quickly up and down her short length, before bestowing a magnificent sneer on her. "Running Dumbledore's errands are we?"

"As you can plainly see. And how is Narcissa?"

"She is fine, as always. I shall tell her you asked after her. Draco is very excited to see more of you, naturally. Another fine addition to the House of Slytherin."

"He will see more than he's comfortable with soon enough."

Malfoy gave a false chuckle of humor, but to Hermione's eyes, he was not amused.

"Do make sure he is settled in, won't you, dear boy?" The man reached out and snatched the cauldron from the professor's hands. "I'm counting on you, Snape."

"I shall look in on him tonight and make sure he is settled."

"You are most obliging, old friend. I must run along, so many things to buy."

The man left without a further word of parting on anyone's lips. Snape watched him for a moment, before turning and giving Hermione a look of anger that made her stomach sink. Without further word, he went back to attacking what cauldrons he hadn't inspected yet.

"I read about these houses last night. Do you think I will end up in Gryffindor? You do keep muttering about it. Will I have any say in it at all? I don't think I like this Slytherin very much. I do hope I don't get picked for that one. From what I read, most evil wizards belonged to that house in their youth. I can believe it, if that man Malfoy's son is anything like him. And this Salazar Slytherin hated my kind. I don't think I could have any truck with someone who belonged to a House whose founder fought to exclude me.

"What house did you belong to? I think it would be rather comforting to belong to your old house."

Her professor gave another satisfied nod, thumping the bottom of the cauldron several more times with his thumb for good measure, before shoving it into her arms.

He straightened to his full height, which was considerable, looked down his nose, which was a good distance, and intoned, "I belonged to, and am now the Head of, the House of Slytherin."

"Oh, dear."

"Indeed."

"I'm sorry."

He raised an eyebrow and turned away, leaving the shop boy to clean up the mess he'd made. She followed behind feeling like an utter fool.

They remained locked in an uncomfortable silence until they reached Madam Malkin's again, where he oversaw the purchase of three sets of school robes, a pair of sturdy boots, that he highly recommended, and agreed that she had enough money from her parents' allotment to buy two more sets of robes for casual use. He balked when she asked for his advice on styles, so she had to trust the woman in the shop. She also bought the several pairs of thick, woolen stockings that he said she would be grateful for.

They made their way to a shop called Ollivander's in an only slightly more comfortable silence. There, she found her _wand_. Or the wand found her, if the old man behind the counter was to be believed. As soon as she felt the vinewood, with a core of what she was told was dragon heartstring, she knew it was hers. It almost seemed to purr like a kitten in her hand. When she flicked it, a beautiful cascade of sparks wafted gently from the tip. She felt tears in her eyes at her first, conscious display of magic, and turned towards her teacher and beamed at him in pride and satisfaction.

He responded with the slightest of nods, before he pulled out the money purse without further ado.

They returned to the Inn and ate a quick meal in still more silence, before repacking her trunks and heading back downstairs. She was now dressed in her school robes, sturdy, dark-gray bombazine, with fitted long-sleeves and a delightfully whimsical low waist. After years of Empire-style muslin, she felt rather special. She couldn't make heads or tails of the pointed hat—it didn't want to cooperate with her high twist of hair—so she tucked it into the pocket of the cloak he'd also purchased for her and hoped she would get the hang of it through mimicry by watching the other students.

She said good-bye to an effusive Mr. Tatterwing and then walked with her teacher to a long line of carriages with no horses. The occasional Muggle strolled by on the street but didn't seem to notice the mass of students and families gathered around saying their good byes.

Professor Snape was staring intently at a shockingly tall man with a huge beard and matted black hair, waving a pink parasol, of all things, but when she looked closer, she saw he was actually staring at the young, dark-haired boy next to him, wearing spectacles.

Hermione found herself unaccountably frightened at the prospect of getting into one of those carriages without her Professor Snape. She didn't want to leave his side. She certainly didn't want to leave him with her misspoken words still hanging between them.

"He's a very nice man, Mr. Tatterwing. He frightened me when I first saw him, and now I feel bad about that. My mother always warned me about first impressions."

He looked at her with annoyance.

"Oh, please don't be mad at me. I didn't intend to insult you or your House. I don't want you to hate me."

"Miss Granger, you are eleven years old. It would be beneath my dignity to, as you say, 'hate you.' However, if you are implying a desire for some sort of friendship between us, I am afraid, that is also not to be countenanced. I am your instructor. I have dragged us both through the streets of London because it was my duty to do so. To project anything more would be the height of childish folly."

She sighed and looked down at her first pair of sturdy boots. "I wasn't suggesting that we go skipping rocks in a stream together, Professor. I just—" She looked back up at him. "Tell me something good about Slytherin House."

He raised an eyebrow at her and replied, "We've won the house cup for the last five years in a row, and our Quidditch team cannot be beaten."

"That's very impressive. Are there any other sports, aside from this Quidditch at the school?"

He looked back at the boy standing on the pavement next to the giant, looking just as overwhelmed and nervous as she felt.

"Nothing as organized as Quidditch," her teacher replied without looking away. "There are several clubs and organizations. Chess Tournaments, and Dueling Clubs, Gobstone Matches, that sort of thing."

"So unless you can ride a broom, then physical activity is limited to a morning or evening constitutional?"

"Trust me, Miss Granger. You will get more than enough exercise simply moving from one class to another. One could say that Hogwarts' other official sport is stair climbing."

"That hardly offers much of a challenge."

He snorted and turned to her finally. "You haven't seen the stairs," he said with a smirk.

She smiled, reveling in the sought-after return of his dry wit.

At exactly eleven o'clock there was a shout, and a general scramble ensued. Both Hermione and the professor actually stepped back from the sudden chaos. He turned to her and asked, "Do you have your food and drink? It is a seven hour carriage ride, with only a few short stops."

"I do. Thank you. Thank you for everything, Professor Snape. You have been most generous with your time and energy, as well as your patience and understanding." He opened his mouth with a scowl, but she raised her hand and cut him off. "You are owed thanks, despite it being your duty as a gentleman and a faculty member. You didn't have to do things like take the time to find me a decent cauldron. Twice. I am deeply appreciative."

His mouth closed, and he seemed discomfited.

"You actually recieved the better cauldron in the end. Remember that."

She smiled. "I shall."

She gathered her valise to her chest and took a deep breath before heading toward one of the carriages.

"Miss Granger," he called after her.

"Yes, sir?"

"I never managed to answer your question last night. The one you asked at your parents' house. You asked me if we taught medicine."

She winced and replied, "I always wanted to be a doctor. Silly, I Know, but—"

"You can be, Miss Granger, if you are diligent in your studies and ambitious. Many of our finest Healers are women."

It felt like her entire face was going to explode from her sudden smile. "I'm going to like this school, ever so much! Thank you!"

He recoiled from her enthusiasm, as if fearing it was contagious.

"You are holding up the carriages, Miss Granger. Do try to get into one of them before they leave without you. I would hate to have to give you a detention on your first day."

The look on his face told her he wouldn't mind any such thing at all, so she turned and scrambled towards the last carriage that still had a door open.

Another boy was running for it as well, but when he reached it, a toad jumped out of his pocket. He gave a cry, and she didn't hesitate. She just reached down and snatched up the toad and handed it back with a smile. They both climbed into the carriage, and when she leaned out the window to wave, her smiled sagged.

Professor Snape had already gone.

She sat back in her seat and immediately pulled out a book. She had an enormous amount of reading to do between now and when classes would begin. She looked up and smiled distractedly at the boy with the toad.

"Thank you for saving Trevor. My name's Neville, by the way. Neville Longbottom."

"I'm Hermione Granger. I'm very pleased to meet you, Neville."

Manners dictated that she turn to the other two occupants. She recognized one of them as belonging to the Weasley brood. The red haired boy was eating his food already, and they hadn't even left yet.

"Ronald Weasley," he said around a mouthful.

She smiled around her disgust and looked to the other boy. The one with the spectacles that her professor had been staring at so intently.

"I'm Harry. Potter, that is."

She smiled at him warmly and then returned her attention to her book, as the other two boys seemed to take great delight in being in the same carriage as the boy with the poor eyesight.

* * *

And they're off!

Sarah, don't take guff from that iPhone! :D


	5. Orientation

**AN:** Onwards, gentle readers!

* * *

By the time Hermione had lined up with the other first-years outside the Great Hall, she was overwhelmed by all the magnificence and completely surrounded by nervous wrecks. She stood next to Neville, alarmed at just how anxious a boy could actually get. Even that obnoxious Malfoy boy—oh, yes. She had recognized him right away, with his white-blonde hair and his supercilious manner. He reminded her of all the worst affectations of her grandmother when he'd made such a point of insulting Ronald Weasley, calling him out in front of everyone because his family's fortune apparently had dipped a bit. How uncouth. The boy simply had no concept of good breeding.

And yet, here he was with the rest of them, worried just as much as Weasley, that he might not be accepted into the house of his forefathers.

Hermione really had no such fear. She had read as much as she could about the Houses in the carriage, and Ronald and Neville were very helpful in sharing their own knowledge as well. Both Neville and Ronald prayed for Gryffindor. Harry had made a comment about hoping for Gryffindor as well and Hermione agreed it might be nice if they ended up in the same house as their new acquaintances.

She thought about what was important to her. Her mother had always put a high value on bravery. That would mean Gryffindor. Both of her parents felt that knowledge was the only means of transforming the human condition. So that was a plus for Ravenclaw. She did admit to a desire to be in Slytherin, despite the opinions tossed about during the carriage ride, and despite the odious Malfoy boy, only because she wished to remain close to Professor Snape and also to show him a bit of the loyalty she felt she owed him. Which most likely meant Hufflepuff.

Professor McGonagall, a frighteningly severe woman, who was also introduced as the Deputy Headmistress, managed to kick her small and reasonable anxiety over the fence into the field marked 'terror,' simply by leading her to understand that the Sorting Hat was their first test. A _test_. She'd never had a real test before. Her mother had quizzed her; her father had often tossed questions at her. Rebecca had tutored her studies for three years, but had never actually tested her knowledge. People _failed _tests.

What if she was somehow chosen for the wrong house? What if the hat couldn't decide and they sent her home? What if they took it into their heads that she wasn't really a witch, just a Muggle with one or two aberrant episodes of the inexplicable? What if she didn't actually _belong_ here?

Hermione's stomach lurched along with the door to the Great Hall, and before she had a chance to get her bearings, she was swept along with the tide and dragged before the head table. Her first sight of Headmaster Dumbledore left her not knowing what to think. He appeared both kind and wise, as well as slightly deranged at the same time. She slid her eyes along the head table and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of intimidating personages she would have to try and impress in order to not be packed back off to London. When she finally saw Professor Snape, she nearly sagged with relief. She tried to catch his eye, but he was talking to an odd-looking fellow wearing a turban next to him. She contented herself with quietly reciting everything she knew about the Sorting Hat, while listening to the strange bit of doggerel it was spouting.

Hermione knew she was babbling to herself by the time they called her name. She gave a frightened squeak but then lifted her chin and sucked in a deep breath. She wasn't aware of how many steps it took to get to the stool, and she couldn't remember what the hat had said to her, only that the smell of it was less than pleasant, and her desire not to get lice was strong. The clearest memory was the shout of 'Gryffindor!' and the look of momentary disappointment on the face of Professor Snape, before he politely applauded along with the rest of the staff.

Hermione stumbled in the direction she was pointed and found herself seated at an enormous table, surrounded by happy faces. She let out a breath and smiled.

She turned her head back towards her Professor, but found him, as seemed to be his new habit, staring hard at Harry Potter.

* * *

Hermione sat at a table in the library and fiddled with the satchel of books in her lap. Her roommates, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil entered and Hermione straightened up in her seat and smiled at them hopefully. They returned strained smiles and then giggled, as they hurried off into another part of the library. Hermione sagged back down.

Her roommates were thick as thieves, and as thick as bricks. Lavender was plainly dim-witted, and Parvati was too vain. She and her twin sister Padma, were two of seven spoiled daughters of an Indian Nawab who had the wealth and influence to send his twin daughters here for their education. Lavender bought into the lavish exoticism of it all and her two roommates started a mutual adoration society that frequently made Hermione gag behind the curtains of her bed.

It was a sign of how lonely she'd become that she was actually trying to court their amiability. She had sunk rather far in her despair.

The door opened again, and she saw Harry and Ron. Harry waved to her politely, but Ron only rolled his eyes when he saw her, as the two of them headed to the desk to return some books.

She looked down at her scrolls and sighed. The phrase, 'be careful of what you wish for,' echoed in her head. She hated Hogwarts. Most especially for being the answer to her prayers.

Hogwarts was wonderful, an amazingly progressive school that in no way changed the girls' curriculum from the boys'. It offered the same opportunities to both sexes and graded in the same manner. They even allowed boys and girls to eat together, study together, and even relax together in the common room after classes and on the weekends. She'd been exposed to so many new thought, ideas, people, creatures, and cultures it made her dizzy with happiness. The only improvement Hermione would venture to make was to allow boys and girls into the same classes and let them compete academically, the way they were allowed to compete athletically. Instead, they had two classes for each year, one for boys, and one for girls. That made no sense to her, and apparently, little to Professor McGonagall, who hinted at changes in the near future.

No, the problem wasn't the education she was receiving, by any means. It was her outsider status. Magic was wonderful, of that she had no doubts, but she was still just as alone as if she were home, without the benefit of her mother or father or even old Mrs. Crabtree and Cook to be amiable with.

It wasn't just that she was Muggle-born, either. Other Muggle-born students in the school seemed to have made good friends. It was patently obvious that no one liked _her_ except Neville Longbottom, and he liked everybody but Professor Snape.

Harry was a decent sort, a bit excitable, but hard not to like, with his unprepossessing manner. His only problem was that he was fast friends with Ronald. Ronald was an idiot. That much was plain to see to anyone. Sure he could be agreeable when he made an effort, but his study habits were a disgrace, his eating habits were worse, and he had rebuked her for each and every effort she had put into trying to show him the error of his ways. If he wanted to flunk out and be sent home, then on his head so be it.

She wondered again how she could turn her fortune around. It was clear to everyone that the hat had sorted her wrongly. No one in Gryffindor appreciated her work habits. She should have been in Ravenclaw. Then perhaps, Professor Snape wouldn't be so hard on her.

That man was an utter mystery and another source of despair.

It was increasingly noticeable to even the thickest wit that Professor Snape loathed Harry. The why was unknown, but his bias and dislike were plain. The man might have assured her that 'hating' an eleven year old was beneath his dignity, but from the stories she'd heard of the boys' potions class, and the nasty glares she'd seen Snape deliver during meals, he was fooling no one but himself. The boys' class seemed to spawn endless stories of some persecution or another and anyone who tried to defend him drew Professor Snape's wrath as well.

Even in the girl's potions class, you could see that the Professor's ire was spreading to the entire House of Gryffindor. Even she was not spared, and it broke her heart. She didn't mind his constant repetition of 'foolish little girl,' or even the occasional, 'insufferable know-it-all,' he had called her such from when they had first met; it was just his way. It was her _grades_. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to get the same grades in potions as she did in her other classes. She would cram as many facts into her essays as possible in the most concise manner feasible, and yet his comments ripped her efforts apart each and every time.

She worried that he did hate her, that he'd looked into her eyes and lied about not hating her. Technically, the bad grades hadn't really started until she'd turned twelve, but that was splitting desperate hairs.

She sighed. She really didn't want to be lied to anymore. She had really wanted him to be a hero. She'd needed one ever so much, and he'd appeared with a flash in answer to her prayers. Now he treated her like some sort of soft wit.

She stuffed her books and scrolls back into her satchel. Perhaps she could go find Neville in the Great Hall and ask if they could work on their essays together after dinner. Hopefully he wasn't caught up in the silliness of the Halloween feast along with the others.

She gathered up her things and headed toward the door, ending up just behind Ron and Harry.

"Nah, mate. I just think she's a nutter. I mean, did you hear her at lunch? Correcting my pronunciation? '_Win-GAR-dium Levee-OH-sa.' _Someone should tell her to wait until a wizard asks for help before pushing her bossy nose into someone else's business. I mean, who would even want her help to begin with? She's too strange."

Hermione's heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she knew she wasn't going to be able to stop the tears. She had to get out of there right away. She shoved her way past Harry and bolted through the library doors.

She wandered, struggling to keep herself together, until she found an empty bathroom and ducked inside. Once out of sight, she scurried into one of the privy stalls, closed the lid, sat down on the commode, and burst into tears.

She wanted to go home. If she wrote to her parents, they would pull her out of the school right away. It would definitely be her last chance at any kind of formal education, but then, after this sort of educational environment, it was highly unlikely that she would be content to study music, deportment, painting, sewing and globes. Not once she'd managed to make feathers fly, or seen a cat turn into her teacher.

She hugged her satchel close and sobbed. It was no use. There was no giving this up. She couldn't pretend she hadn't seen it. She couldn't go the rest of her life not wanting to be as good as those born in it were. She would have to stay, and staying would slowly eat at her soul.

She pressed her head against her knees and blubbered for what seemed like hours.

Eventually, she heard the creak of the door, and she pulled herself together with a mighty sniff. When the commode automatically flushed behind her, she marveled, distractedly, at the miracle that was Wizarding plumbing. There wasn't a chamber pot in the whole castle. Even in the midst of her hopes turning to ashes, magic was still magical.

She slung her satchel of books onto her back by the wide leather strap and pushed out of the stall. She walked over to the basin and smiled weakly as it filled with water. She washed her hands, splashed at her face, dried them with a quick spell, and then shrieked like the door to hell had just opened behind her.

She threw herself to the side just as a club the size of a tree trunk smashed down and destroyed the wet sink. Even as she scrambled and screamed, her mind raced through everything she had read about magical beasts and quickly spat out the needed information.

Troll.

She was trapped in the girls' privy chamber with a troll. A mountain troll, unless she was mistaken. She screamed blue-bloody-murder as she scrambled under the partitions dividing one stall from the next, only to be showered with more bits of porcelain as the stupid beast continually smashed too late.

The door flew open again, and she heard shouts. She shrieked again and bolted for the door, only to be nearly crushed by an uncharacteristically well-timed blow. She dodged to the side and flew into the corner.

Harry and Ron threw themselves into the fray throwing bits of debris and chunks of porcelain. At one point, Harry ended up on the beast's back, while Ron shouted encouragement and advice. Harry ended up dangling upside down. The relief that the boys were here to save her was destroyed by the fact that now all three of them were going to die. She huddled into a ball and awaited her fate with shocking cowardice.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

Hermione couldn't resist looking up in surprise as Ron finally pronounced the spell correctly and saw the Troll's club drop down onto its head and knock it out cold.

Harry came running over to her.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

"Yes. No. I have no idea. How did a mountain troll get into the castle?"

Ron explained about Professor Quirrell's sudden announcement and their realization that she wouldn't know, and was possibly in danger, because of Ron's hurtful words.

"I'm really very sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I speak without thinking a lot. It comes from being in a big family. One has to talk when one gets a chance to be heard; there isn't always time for editing. I'm awfully glad you're alright."

"Me too," added Harry.

Just then, the door flew open and three teachers raced into the room. Hermione nearly fainted at the level of fury on the face of her Head of House, but the look on Professor Snape's face made her want to vomit.

It was obvious that the boys were going to be held responsible for disobeying the order to go to the common room. They would most likely be expelled from the school for saving her life. She instantly judged her loss as less than theirs, so she stepped forward and did something she hadn't done since she was four years old and found out what soap tasted like the hard way: she lied.

"It was my fault," she blurted. "I was curious about trolls and so I went looking for it…"

The rest of her words were lost amidst the sound of buzzing in her ears. All she really understood was that it had worked, the boys were looking at her with shocked gratitude, and Professor Snape… He was looking at her with bitter disappointment.

She took a moment to find her satchel in the mess and carefully stepped around the troll and Professor Quirrell. She followed the others out of the lavatory, but when she gained the hallway, a hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around.

"For a young lady who puts such emphasis on truth, you lie with suspicious ease," Professor Snape said in a quiet voice, as the others drifted out of sight.

He placed a calloused finger under her chin and tilted her face toward the sconce on the wall.

"Tell me the truth. Why were you crying alone in there?"

She started to protest, but he cut her off.

"_DON'T_… lie to me. Your eyes are nearly swollen shut from weeping, and yet there are no tear streaks through the dust on your face. This tells me that you were crying even before you encountered our unwanted guest. Last chance, Miss Granger."

Her lip trembled and she couldn't control it.

"You will think it a childish thing."

"Nevertheless…"

"It's that I had so hoped that being here would be different. That once I found people like me, I would… have friends. But I don't. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to fit in. It's not just that I'm Muggle-born, the others get on well enough. It's _me_. No one likes me, and I don't know why. Just before dinner, I heard someone that I had tried to help ridicule me most viciously. It… broke my resolve."

"And the mountain troll? It just happened to find you alone, didn't it?"

"Yes, sir. I don't know where it came from. I was just washing my face when all of a sudden it was behind me, trying to kill me. Harry and Ron appeared out of nowhere as well. They saved my life, sir. I couldn't let them be expelled for that. I thought if anyone was to be sent away from the school, it might as well be me."

"Potter was the one who insulted you, wasn't he?" he spat. "He'd have had no other reason to know you were missing unless he was responsible."

"Actually, it was Ronald Weasley, sir. Aside from Neville Longbottom, Harry is the only other student in the school who treats me with any decency."

He pulled his hand away from her face, and she dropped her gaze toward the floor. She saw his badly injured leg through the tear in his robes.

"Sir! You're hurt!"

"I am aware of that fact, Miss Granger, you needn't shout it to the world. It is of no consequence. Listen to me. Potter might seem charming to you, but any association with people like him will almost always result in tragedy for those around them. You told me once that you placed great store in my opinions. I would advise you now. Stay away from Potter. He is thoughtless and arrogant and incapable of thinking a situation through for any other possible outcome but the one he has already decided on. His kind is only interested in their own self-aggrandizement.

"I understand what you are going through, Miss Granger. You are neither the first, nor the last, student to have trouble finding their place in the world, regardless of magic. Do not let your need for the society of others cloud your mind. You are here to fulfill your dream of making a mark on the world based on your own merit, not to become a social butterfly."

"Yes, sir."

"Go back to your common room. I believe it has been some time since your last meal. As dinner was interrupted in such a dramatic manner, I will ask the Headmaster to have food sent to each House."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"You can thank me by heeding my words, Miss Granger."

"I will give them considerable thought, sir."

She could feel the weight of his stare and shied away from looking up.

"An honest answer, at least," he said, with finality.

With a swirl of robes he was off, displaying a slight limp. She watched his retreat with worry and sadness.

She hurried back to Gryffindor Tower and slipped through the portrait hole.

Immediately, she was surrounded by students who were congratulating her on her survival and peppering her with a thousand questions. Harry and Ron squirmed through the press and both danced about her excitedly.

"Are you alright? We saw Snape nab you. I hope the git didn't give you extra detentions!" said Ron with worry.

"No, not at all."

"You were incredible, Hermione," said Harry.

"I rather thought you and Ron were the incredible ones," she said deferentially.

"Ah, go on," laughed Ron. "We just fought a troll. You looked both Snape and McGonagall in the eye and lied for us! Now that's bravery of the highest order! And we didn't even deserve it! We were the reason you were in danger in the first place!"

"You're a little free with this 'we' business, my friend," laughed Harry.

Hermione felt ill. She was to be finally accepted based on her ability to _lie?_

"Listen, Ron, Harry. I cannot express to you how grateful I am that you were in the right place at the right time. I am in your debt for saving my life. I do forgive you, _Ron_, for the insult that resulted in my being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am sincerely pleased that neither of you are to be expelled because you came to my rescue. Perhaps we could just call all debts paid and let it drop?"

Ron smiled warmly. "Absolutely, if that is what you want. But don't lose track of the fact that you saved my life as well. If I'd been kicked out, my mum would have killed me dead."

"_FOOD!_" shouted Seamus Finnigan.

There was a mass migration across the common room as everyone headed to the tables that had arrived, filled with a truncated version of the feast.

Ron dove in with a look of joy. Hermione walked over with more dignity but was just as famished. Neville smiled and made up a plate for her, and Harry somehow managed to commandeer two of the couches, so the four of them could eat in relative comfort.

She carefully balanced her plate on her lap as Ron sat next to her, and Neville sank down next to Harry.

"Did you see the cut on Snape's leg?" asked Harry after they had blunted their appetites.

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," she chided. Realizing what she'd done, she grimaced and looked at the others.

"Quite correct," Harry replied with a smile. "But did you?"

"I did," she replied.

"I didn't notice. I was too busy staring at his eyes. Bloody hell, that man's scary." Ron looked at Hermione quickly. "My apologies. The man scares my manners away."

Reluctant to ruin this rare moment of camaraderie, she just gave him a tight smile.

"I bet he had something to do with it," whispered Harry.

"With what?" she blurted.

"With the troll. I bet he lured the troll into the school for some dark and terrible purpose."

Hermione snorted, but Neville seemed eager to agree.

"There's something not right with him," Longbottom said. "I'm beginning to wonder if he hexes me somehow, just so I will make all those mistakes in his class."

"That's absurd," she huffed. "He's a teacher! What purpose would it serve for him to bring a troll into the school?"

"All I can say is, ever since I arrived at school, my scar has been hurting." By now, everyone knew about Harry's scar and about the dark wizard that gave it to him when he was a mere infant. "It's especially worse during meals. In fact, whenever it really starts to pain me, I can always count on looking up to find Snape staring at me."

"I have to admit," she said. "I have seen him staring at you quite a bit. I wasn't aware it made your scar hurt."

"You think it's dark magic?" asked Neville. "I've heard said that Snape was a follower of You-Know-Who."

"Weren't all Slytherins?" added Ron. "And no one is more Slytherin than Snape, himself."

"Honestly, you are convicting a man on rumor and innuendo," she said, in her most pleasant and reasonable voice. "I'm sure a man as wise as Professor Dumbledore would know if he had a dark wizard on his staff, don't you?"

"Hermione's right," said Harry. "If we are going to successfully convict him, we need proof. I'm going to keep an eye on him from now on."

Hermione found herself speechless as the three boys developed a strategy to prove her Professor guilty of a criminal act, while stuffing themselves full of the food he had provided.

She stood up, and the three reflexively stood as well.

"Where are you off to?" asked Ron.

"I… I need to work on an essay. I'm going to head up to my room now."

"Always diving into the books, you are. Perhaps later you could look at my essay and tell me where I'm going wrong?"

Hermione was sincerely touched by Ron's peace offering, knowing how much he resented being shown his mistakes. If she wanted to encourage a solid friendship, now would be the time to close the link.

"I have a bit of a headache, actually. Probably from all of the excitement. I'll just turn in for the night when I'm done. I'm sure your essay is just fine as is."

She watched his face as he tried to understand if his gesture had been accepted or rejected.

"Good night, everyone."

She turned on her heel and left the company of Harry Potter and his friends. Professor Snape had been correct. They were a charming bunch, the three of them, but they were hotheaded and given to fantastic leaps of illogic and paranoia. She would seek solace in her studies, and politely avoid them in the future.

* * *

And thus, Fate slides off in a new direction…


	6. Conundrum

**AN:** All hail my girls for talking me off the ledge when I found a plot hole you could fly a 747 through. All fixed now. Carry on... Did I mention that Hebe sent me a life-sized cardboard cutout of Snape for Christmas? She is awesome! New sporting event in Casa Aurette: The Standing Jump when you pull back the Shower curtain and find Snape. Yup. My kids are so going to need therapy. *cackles madly*

* * *

Hermione threw herself into her studies with all the energy she didn't spend on having friends. Her books became her closest companions. The incident with the mountain troll had left a lingering good will amongst her peers—it seemed nearly dying was all it took to gain a certain amount of respect—but she only smiled and went on her way whenever someone tried to include her in a bit of conversation or enlist her in a scheme. Harry and Ron remained affable and distant, and Neville seemed to have found his niche with them, leaving him less time to be companionable. That was fine. She wasn't interested in maintaining any closeness with him anymore anyway.

Life was easier now that she had chosen not to have friends, as opposed to being condemned to not having any.

She made sure to be cordial at all times, only offer her help on an assignment when asked, and to be pleasant to everyone she passed. What she gave, she received. For the most part. Certain personages, Malfoy being the most glaring example, would never be bearable. She had tried to cultivate an acquaintance with some of the students from Slytherin House, in deference to her Professor, but all she gained for her efforts was a more nuanced view of insults.

Mudblood was such a curious word. It was such a random choice of verbiage. At first, she hadn't even understood she was supposed to be mortally offended. That hadn't gone over very well. The term seemed so silly. Mudblood. She often came up with other terms in her mind that sounded equally stupid. Inkspit. Dirtpaste.

Sadly, the more she heard it, the more weight it seemed to gain.

She stopped bothering to even try and be pleasant where Slytherins were concerned. She just made sure she was never in the wrong and held her head up high. She also resumed her practice of shouting the filthy things that Stephen had taught her within the confines of her own head while holding her face frozen in a polite smile.

The whole blood status argument was worth an essay on its own. The fact that every race of magical human on the planet held equal status, as long as their families had never mixed with _Muggles_, actually bolstered her opinions on just how ludicrous her grandmother's posturing was. It reaffirmed her belief that a person should be judged on character, not the random luck of birth, or in her grandmother's case, a most advantageous marriage. The fact that the same wizards and witches looked down on her because of her own parentage was patently ludicrous. She was obviously as talented as they were. All of their arguments in favor of her lesser humanity only fueled her desire to show them all up.

She did wonder if at some point their beliefs would begin to gain weight as well.

Her lack of a social life seemed to please her perverse Professor. That was obvious when he first spied her sitting alone on the bench eating her meal in silence the morning after the troll incident. As the school bellowed its gossip into the air around her, he gave her a look filled with unmistakable approval. After that, he seemed to make a point of seeking her out with his eyes at some point during each meal, as if her continuing solitude was a talisman that all was right in his world.

Unfortunately, her lack of outlets for amity seemed to be the only thing he approved of. He definitely continued to insist on detesting her essays. She knew, because he had told her, that he abhorred lengthy explanations; however, when he expressly asked for three feet of parchment, why would he take points because she filled in as much information as she needed in exactly three feet? Surely it wasn't because she had eliminated margins and found a spell to reduce the size of her written hand? How else was she expected to cite her references and clarify the subject matter in such a limited space? She though she deserved points for her initiative. It was three feet exactly, and it got the job done rather nicely. From the amount of spiky red ink, it was clear he didn't find her clever in the least.

She sighed and re-rolled her latest Potions debacle and turned her attention back to the game. Contrary to how it would seem, considering the sheer amount of energy that went into it, the all-important Quidditch that everyone, including her Professor, seemed to think so highly of, was in actuality more pointless than watching grass grow.

She couldn't make heads or tails of the rules, and the behavior of the players was mindboggling. Take, for example, Harry. It was her understanding that he was supposed to be looking for the Snitch. Instead, he was jittering around in midair for no apparent reason other than to show off his admittedly astounding skills. She acknowledged a certain amount of ugliness in her own manner. She disliked brooms and detested flying. It was the one aspect of the Wizarding world that she seemed to fail at spectacularly. But even setting her petty resentment aside, it would still seem that dangling one-handed from the broom was a bit vulgar.

She looked at the people around her, looking to see what the proper response to such an exhibition was, and was rather alarmed to see shock and fear. She turned her head back and reassessed the situation. It was plain, now that she understood, that Harry wasn't showing off, he was hanging on for dear life.

"Somebody help him!" she called.

"It's Snape!" Neville called out. "He's hexing him!"

"_WHAT?_" She snatched the spyglass without even a by-your-leave and turned her focus on the teachers' grandstand. Sure enough, Professor Snape was staring intently at Harry while his lips moved in a constant mutter. She saw Professor Quirrell doing the same thing. McGonagall was chattering away as well, but that looked more like running commentary than a hex. She scanned the rest of the stand and saw several people whose lips seemed to be in constant motion.

She handed the spyglass back to Neville. "Don't be foolish. Half the adults in the stands look like they're casting spells," she snapped.

Mr. Hagrid concurred that they were overreacting, but Neville and Ron took off to see what could be done anyway. Hermione pulled out her wand and wished she knew something, anything, which would help. She had managed to learn an enormous amount on her own, but, clearly, silly little magics such as Bluebell Flames weren't going to be much help in this situation.

Harry held on, managing to get one leg back on his broom, while the rest of the students shouted encouragement.

A rise in the level of noise had her turning toward the faculty grandstand. She reached up and grabbed the spyglass back from Seamus. Professor Snape was flailing at his robes, which seemed to be twisting around his body, trying to strangle him like a fast growing vine.

In the sudden commotion, no one at first noticed that Harry had finally regained control of his broom. The roar of laughter resulting from her Professor's distress, turned into a roar of joy when Harry zoomed around the field in command of his broom again.

Hermione looked away from Harry, who appeared to be fine, and looked back at her Professor, who appeared to be furious. He also seemed to be fine. People had turned their attention away from him to Professor Quirrell, who appeared to have been upended during the fracas. She handed the spyglass back to Seamus with murmured thanks.

There was another roar and she looked down to see Harry pulling the Snitch out of his mouth.

What an asinine sport.

She gathered up her satchel and made her way out of the stands.

* * *

Hermione dragged her trunk through the hallways on her way out the door to the carriages. She nodded and smiled and bid her au revoir to friendly faces as she passed.

She was looking forward to going home for Christmas. She couldn't wait to see her parents. Granted, she wouldn't be able to explain anything about her new life to them, but her previous months of letter writing had given her the skills and practice to be able to dance around the truth without lying. Thanks to a good bit of help from Professor McGonagall, she had been studying a normal course of Muggle education in her free time, and so could truthfully report on her progress in that area.

She did so wish she could tell them the truth, a part of her knew they would be fascinated and thrilled, but that was the childish part. She understood completely how little they would be able to assimilate this new reality, and they were better off ignorant. Her parents were progressive, but they were still Muggles. The fear that had kept her silent after her accidental use of magic the night before they left for London was squarely rooted in that long ago shared look of fear when a very young Hermione took such fierce exception to not being believed. Even as a young child, she'd instinctively known that her parents didn't _want_ to believe her, because the alternative was too terrifying.

She waved to Harry and Ron, who were off to the side watching the other students leave and then waited patiently as her trunk was loaded on a carriage. She saw Professor Snape overseeing their departure and, on a whim, walked over to him.

"Sir, may I have a moment of your time?" she asked, as she kept pace with his patrol along the line of carriages.

"It would appear to be unavoidable."

"Would you tell me, please, sir, exactly what I am doing wrong on my essays? I have applied myself to the task of improving them to no avail. I simply do not understand by what measure you are grading them, and it gives me no end of frustration that I cannot seem to please you. Just… tell me what you want."

He stopped and whirled around to face her.

"Instead of answering your question, I will ask one of my own. I do not want the answer straight away. I expect you to think about it on the way home to your family.

"Which do you think would give me the greater pleasure, watching a toddler struggling to climb stairs that are too high for him? Or watching a monkey trained to play violin?"

Hermione blinked rapidly several times, trying to make of his odd words.

He pulled open the door to one of the carriages and stepped aside with a curt gesture for her to get in.

"Your answer, and accompanying explanation for why you chose that answer, is to be written on no more than one foot of parchment. Any longer, and I will burn it unread."

"Yes, sir." She climbed into the carriage and turned to face him. "Happy Christmas, Professor."

He grunted and shut the door in her face.

* * *

"Lady Granger requests your presence in the parlor."

"Thank you, Charles."

Hermione set her fork down next to her unfinished tart and followed the footman out of the nursery.

How very vexing it was to be treated like a child again after being held accountable for her own conduct at Hogwarts. It wasn't as if there was no supervision; it seemed that they were still terribly constricted once they were there, but it occurred to Hermione that if treated like young adults, children frequently rose to the occasion.

As she dawdled on her way to be presented to her grandmother, the merchant's daughter and widow of a minor Baronet, it also came to mind that the opposite was quite true as well.

She patted at her hair, smoothed a wrinkle out of her best muslin frock, settled her shawl around her shoulders, and lifted her chin before entering the parlor.

* * *

"I tell yeh, in my day we wouldn'a stood for it a'tall! And we didn'! When the wool merchants got their poxy tax on the cotton in eighty-four, and I were shut out o'the mill along wit t'other fellows. Do yeh know what we dun, boy?"

Severus knew exactly what the old man had done. He'd come home and beat his wife and son for a year until the Cotton Tax of 1784 was lifted and the mill reopened. He didn't bother looking up from his newspaper and tea. In fact, he didn't even bother listening. He'd heard the same words so often that his father only needed to supply the tone and Severus could sing the tune himself.

"We dealt wit it like gentlemen. We got up a petition, we did. Eighty thousan' signatures we got. Changed that law right' back to way it t'was before. There were none of this violence and strikes like they got today. No. These days they're all mad as hatters. We used our heads, we did."

The sound of the door opening put a merciful end to the moribund diatribe. Severus set down his tea and folded his paper as he got up from the table. There was only room for two chairs at the table in the kitchen. In order for his mother to sit, someone would have to give theirs up, and it would never be the other one. Not once in all these long years.

"Yer back then, Eileen? Did yeh get me medicine? Yer useless son's been bangin' on about his witchy ways again. I shoulda showed him the back of me hand, but I knew it would make yeh un'appy, and a'sides, 'e still runs too fast. Useless little coward. Yeh remember how fast our Sev'rus used to run, mother? All knees an' elbows flying up t'lane like demons were on his tail?"

Tobias Snape roared with laughter at his own humor, because he was actually stupid enough to believe that making a joke about the old days made everything all right.

His wife patted him on the shoulder, as if he deserved a reward, and handed him the rum she'd gone out for. She scooped up a bowl of the stew, and before she sat, pulled a packet of letters out of her net bag and tossed them onto the table.

Severus leaned down and scooped them up and left the room, with a murmured, "There's tea for you as well."

He headed up the creaking stairs while flicking through the letters and arranging them into an order of importance based on some nebulous criteria that never fully presented itself to the light. He stopped when he saw a letter he had been half expecting but was still surprised to see. He headed into his room and closed the door. Dropping the rest of his correspondence onto the small desk, he flicked the tails of his coat out of the way and sat.

He untied his cravat and carefully folded it, laying it on his desk before popping the first two buttons of his lawn shirt. Then he pulled open the drawer of his desk, took out a rule, and used it to pop the wax seal on the letter. He carefully folded it out and measured it. Satisfied, he replaced the rule and closed the drawer. He sat back in the chair and settled one long, lanky, leg on the top of the desk before he started reading.

'_Professor S. Snape, Hogwarts Academy for the Gifted _

_Dear Sir,_

_After careful consideration, my answer to your perplexing question is that you would prefer to watch the monkey. _

_I have taken into account several factors, not the least of which would be your apparent dislike of children in general. I cannot even begin to conceive of you taking time out to enjoy the sight of a child doing something entertaining. The idea of you enjoying watching one struggle, with the almost mandatory tears that would be involved, boggles the mind completely._

_Therefore, I have decided that the energy and effort that went into training the monkey is the key factor. Even if we leave aside the notion that the monkey plays well, or even plays horribly, the fact that it could hold the bow and the violin in the proper manner suggests a level of skill that would be intriguing. If the animal were to bow well enough to even create one scratchy note, it would be worth accolades. Were the monkey to actually 'play,' it would be a worthy feat indeed, and one that I think might appeal to your interests._

_I hope this letter find you well, and that you are enjoying your holiday even more than I am enjoying mine. _

_Yrs,_

_Hermione J. Granger, Southwark, London."_

He tossed the letter onto the desk and picked up the next one from the stack and popped the wax with his thumb. He spread it open but then stopped and looked back at the letter from his student. He dropped his leg with a heavy sigh and snatched up a quill and a piece of foolscap.

* * *

Hermione sat in her chair in her bedroom and tried to read her text by the dreary light of the window. It was another overcast day and the sky was swollen with rain that coquettishly refused to fall.

A quick knock on her door was followed by Mrs. Crabtree's entrance. "You have a letter, dear."

"I do?"

"Aye. Your mother asked me to bring it to you right away."

"Thank you, Mrs. Crabtree. That was most kind."

"Your mother also asked me to tell you that your father has a patient coming very soon, and it looks to be another bit of fuss."

"Oh. Again, thank you, Mrs. Crabtree."

"T'was my pleasure, dear."

The door closed and Hermione looked quickly at the envelop. To her surprise and delight, it was from her Professor. She hadn't expected an answer from him, assuming he wouldn't receive her letter until he'd returned from his own holiday. What was even more surprising was that she had only sent hers yesterday. She had posted her letter as instructed when using Muggle methods and so had assumed it would take quite a bit of time to travel back to Scotland. However they did it, her letter seemed to have made it to wherever her Professor was in good enough time for her to already receive his reply within eighteen hours.

She looked at the seal, but, like hers, it was just a flattened blob of red wax and nothing special. No Slytherin House crest, or ornamental S.S., most likely the butt of a letter opener, as she used.

She didn't know if she should feel let down, or validated.

She popped the seal and unfolded the letter and let out a squeak of indignation.

'_Miss H. Granger, Southwark, London_

_Wrong. Ten points from Gryffindor for being willfully obtuse._

_Prof. S. Snape, Spinner's End, Manchester.'_

Hermione glared out the window as if seeking him on the street so she could run out and give him a piece of her mind.

A rising cry that quickly broke into a piercing shriek came up through the floorboards. She snatched two small twists of cotton out of the palm of her fingerless gloves and jammed them into her ears, cursing the restrictions on underage magic.

She read the short missive through one more time, before jumping up and throwing open her trunk to grab a quill and her ink.

* * *

Severus strode swiftly through the streets with his hat pulled down low against the bitter wind that tore at the flaps of his greatcoat. There were few people out on the streets, only a small cluster gathered around a broken dogcart that someone had cheerfully set ablaze. Since there was no one to watch out for, he read his post as he walked.

_Prof. S. Snape, Spinner's End, Manchester._

_Dear Sir,_

_I protest the haphazard manner of my demerit. School is not in session. I dispute your right to take points from my entire house over a private matter. You asked me a particularly obtuse question, and I answered in good faith, following your instructions to the letter. I took a week to craft my reply, and you took all of perhaps two minutes to toss me your disingenuous response._

_If I had any power at all in this situation, then I would demand an explanation. I am well aware that I do not. Therefore, if I am to lose points, then let me lose them for a worthy reason. In fact, since you obviously miss taking points, let me provide one. I think much lower of you for perpetrating such a coarse jest on a mere first-year student._

_There. I have said my peace. If there are to be consequences, then on my head so be it._

_H.J. Granger, Southwark, London._

He refolded the letter and slipped it into his pocket with the rest of the day's post. From the corner of his eye he spied a huddled figure on the corner. He reached into his pocket again and made his way over to the boy.

"Mr. Snape, sir! I hope you're havin' a good day, sir. Reading letters I see. Anyone important writin' to you?"

"No." He dropped several coins into the boy's shaking hand. "Go get out of the cold, Simon."

"Bless you, Mr. Snape. You have a good New Year, sir."

Severus was already moving on.

He was not far from his parents' home when a door he was passing opened. Elspeth Spanner stopped just short of dousing him with the bucket of dirty water she'd been about to throw into the street. She gave him an amused, apologetic smile, before turning to the side and emptying the bucket with more care. She straightened and gave him a direct look before turning back inside with a lingering glance over her shoulder. She didn't completely close her door.

* * *

Elspeth hurried across her one-room house and replaced the bucket by the stove. She wiped her hands on her apron as she quickly untied it and pulled it off. She checked to make sure her baby was still fast asleep in his crib and tucked one more fold over him, to keep the chill off. She tossed a bit more wood into the stove and was just shutting the door on it when her front door was pushed open.

She straightened up with a slow smile and turned to face Mr. Snape, who had already stripped off his hat and gloves and closed the door behind him.

"How long will your husband be gone?"

"A fortnight. His mother has taken ill in Surrey."

Mr. Snape didn't reply, he just continued to unbutton his greatcoat. Elspeth snatched up a pan from the top of the stove, and, lifting up her heavy quilts, she ran it up and down the sheets to heat the bed. She hurriedly stripped out of her woolen dress and scrambled under the quilts in her shift and knee-length stockings, pulling her shift up around her waist.

When she saw him about to strip off his waistcoat, she stopped him.

He gave her a quizzical look.

"I want you to keep your clothes on."

"Why?"

"If you're naked, you are just a man like the rest. Your fine clothing reminds me of what I gave up. It makes you special to me."

He lifted an eyebrow at her, and she shivered. Mr. Snape was special in other ways that Elspeth could never explain, but always anticipated with relish. That fact that he always left a discreet pile of money was a bonus as well. The baby needed food, and her Henry had left them with too little to keep them until he returned.

The bed creaked from his extra weight, as he pulled off his polished boots and dropped them to the floor, revealing thick, woolen stockings.

She helped him get settled under the quilts, accommodating his weight with pleasure, thinking of the lumpy oaf she'd run off with. She fumbled with the placket of his breeches and shoved them down his narrow hips for him. A bit of spit and a small amount of attention was all that was needed. She'd been ready to go since she'd seen him passing her door. He always had that effect on her.

It always started the same. The bed creaking rhythmically and his face shuttered by his long hair, so it looked like she was being fucked by a stringy wig with a nose. At this point, it was always just a pleasant business transaction. But Elspeth knew there was magic to be had if she was patient enough. Sometimes it took longer than others, and once, it didn't happened at all. He'd just spent himself with a grunt and rolled off of her, and she'd gone for days feeling like a dirty whore. She hoped it happened again this time. She was desperate for it to happen.

He pushed his arms straight so he was high above her, and she helpfully pulled the tails of his shirt out of the way. Mesmerized by the patterns in the watered silk of his waistcoat, she traced a swirl with her finger.

He let out a long, deep breath, and she knew the magic was going to happen this time. Her belly fluttered in anticipation, and he twisted his head far to the side and stared unseeingly at the wall, as his mouth dropped open. A small moan escaped her. His black eyes found hers with an almost violent force, and she felt herself clench around him in reaction. _'Do it. Do it!'_ she chanted in her head, needing the magic.

And then it happened. She groaned loud and long when his eyes seemed to ignite and his gaze slipped down to her lips. His face collapsed into that magical look of raw need, and he tossed his hair to the side and crashed down on top of her to capture her mouth with his own. His long hands dragged at her shift, seeking her skin, seeking _her_, as he unleashed a need deeper than mere physical release.

This was what she craved. This was the magic. This was the moment when it changed from a pleasant way to make a few bob, to two desperately unhappy people stealing heaven in a flash. In that magical moment, as simple fucking turned to passionate love-making, he was her entire world, and she knew without a doubt that she was his as well, for as long as this stolen minute lasted.

Afterwards, she marveled again at how quickly he could shut himself away. It always ended as it began, with few words and little connection. He would go back to being the aloof, respectable man that always stood out like a strange and exotic creature in a neighborhood already turning to squalor despite its newness. And she would stay in love with him for a few days, before her practicality, which had waited until she had well and truly ruined her life to show its face, reasserted itself.

She shoved the pile of shillings into an old tea tin and hid it behind the leg of the stove before sitting down to peel potatoes for her dinner. She glanced at her remade bed and sighed. She should have left it. It would have made that moment of magic seem more real.

* * *

You know what to do...


	7. Tutorial

**AN:** If you wear a Snuggie backwards it billows when you walk. It's a fact.

* * *

_H.J. Granger, Southwark, London._

_Miss Granger,_

_Ten more points from Gryffindor for your lack of manners. If you insist on continuing to disturb my remaining time away from the incessant demands of my profession, you will lose even more points._

_Since it appears that you lack the wit to understand the subtext, I find myself being forced to explain what should have been patently obvious. _

_Our hypothetical toddler's struggles are a necessary part of his development into a contributing member of society. He knows what he wants, and seeks endlessly to overcome his limitations. He has a goal, and uses his imperfect intellect and physical abilities in every way he can to achieve it. Every failure is a learning experience. He is aware, Miss Granger. He knows there is something beyond his present state, and seeks to advance himself._

_That said, let us now turn our attention to the monkey. The following essay contains an exact and detailed analysis on how exactly the monkey benefits and grows from its experience in being trained to play the violin._

Hermione hurriedly turned to the next page, but found it blank, as were the following four pages of parchment. That exasperating man hadn't even bothered to append his valediction. It was completely unsigned. He'd spent the money to mail her blank paper rather than save himself an extra charge and just write, 'Nothing.' He truly was a wicked man and a brilliant teacher.

"Who are all these letters from?" her mother asked across the breakfast table, "friends from school?"

"Not hardly. Professor Snape sent me the answer to a conundrum."

"Your teacher took the time from his holiday to write to you? That is either very diligent, or highly unorthodox. I don't know what to think of that."

"I think both descriptions fit him. I wrote to him first, actually. I am not doing well in his class, no matter how hard I apply myself. I finally asked him what I was doing wrong."

"Oh, I see. So he took the time to explain?"

"Not exactly, no. Instead of answering my question, he asked me a riddle. This is the answer to the riddle, not my question."

"How strange."

"He's a very strange man, but I have the utmost respect for him, when he is not making me tear at my hair."

Her mother gave her a long stare.

"I envy you, you know. I think your father might as well. I cannot tell you how much we enjoy your letters home. We both wish we were young again so we could go to this school with you."

Hermione grimaced, imagining her parents' reactions if they knew Hogwarts School for the Gifted were really Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"If you could start your life over, what would you do differently?" she asked her mother.

"I would be a man," her mother said with asperity. Then her face softened and hers eyes lit with mischief. "Which would make your father and I a bit of a scandal, and we would have lost out on having you in our lives. No, as much as I do wish I had more of an opportunity to explore my dreams, I have no regrets when I look at the balance sheet." She smiled wistfully and then pinned her daughter with one of her looks. Since Hermione had come home, her mother had been giving her many of these same looks.

"Hermione, I want you to enjoy this school experience to the fullest. But please keep a level head. Understand that the world limits us in ways that are and always will be more difficult for our sex. It is so difficult to watch your intellect soar and know that it will be slapped down in time. Be mindful of this doom at all times. We are not allowed to achieve our dreams. There are only ever little tastes that can be cruel in the truths they show."

Her mother stood up rather abruptly and left the table to attend to her day's sewing.

* * *

Hermione got down from the carriage on legs that weren't sure they actually wanted to work. She stamped her feet a few times to get the blood circulating again and waited until her trunk was pulled off the back of a different carriage.

She grasped the handle and tapped it with her wand, and in a commanding voice said, "_Rota!_" She ambled along the graveled drive, dragging her trunk along on its spelled-on wheels. She was thrilled to be able to use magic again. The weeks at home had been pleasant, but it had felt as if she'd been forced to leave a limb behind at school.

She passed Mr. Filch with his clipboard, gave her name, and headed into the castle. She saw her Professor standing off to the side looking like he had already had more than enough of the returning students. She headed over to him, determined to turn his little jest back on him.

"Hello, Professor Snape. I'm very glad to see you again. Thank you, very much, for the gift of parchment. That was very thoughtful of you."

He looked down his nose at her as if she'd sprouted horns, but then his eyes sparked with hidden humor.

"Get out of my hallway, Miss Granger."

"Immediately, sir."

* * *

Hermione settled back into her routine of studying, doing research, keeping up with her Muggle education, so she could have something to write home about, and despairing over her Potions essays.

She sat in her chair, staring at her latest paper, as all the other first-year girls filed out of the room. Ever since she had returned to the school last January, her essays only ever contained two words in Professor Snape's hand: "Monkey Scribblings."

"Miss Granger, are you taking up permanent residence at that table, or will it be possible at all for me to leave so that I might attend lunch?"

Her head came up, and she saw her Professor standing in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down his nose.

"Why do you do this to me?" she whispered around the tears trying to block her throat. "You must be aware that I asked Professor McGonagall to look over this last essay for me so she could tell me if I had done something wrong. I just don't understand. You never call on me when I know the answer. You never give me any supervision when I am working on a potion, and despite my best efforts, you continue to grade my work by some esoteric measure that you will not reveal. _Why?_ You know how important this class is to me!"

"Lower your voice, Miss Granger." His own was low enough to slip under a door. "You do not want to use that tone with me."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"No, sir. I do not. It was merely a sign of how frustrated I am. My apologies." She stood up and gathered her book and parchment into her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "I'm sorry I made you late to lunch, sir."

He didn't respond as she left the classroom.

* * *

Severus had a blinding headache by the time he reached the Headmaster's office to attend the staff meeting. The tension in the castle had been growing worse since the new term had started, and everything centered around the object being protected by the school. Even he had to admit that every precaution had been taken, but the feeling of unease continued to grow.

"Good evening Severus." Minerva handed him a cup of tea as they waited for the Headmaster to appear. "You look like you could use this."

"Thank you. I certainly could."

He looked around the room, and his eyes settled one more time on Quirrell, and he felt the hairs pricking on his arms. He thought it the height of stupidity that Dumbledore had included the poncy fop in his protections. None of the teachers knew how to get past the others' wards, but Quirrell's? A troll? Really? What was he thinking? Especially after the incident on Halloween. A pair of first-years had taken one down. One would think that the Defense professor would have come up with a something that would actually defend against a Dark Art. He'd tried to have words with him about that, in fact, but the fool had actually fainted.

Snape still had his suspicions about him, but the Headmaster refused to hear them.

As he always did.

There was a _wrongness_ about Quirrell, just as there was a _wrongness_ about the boy. What was the good of keeping a Death Eater on a leash all these years, if the man was going to ignore his advice and cautions once the Golden Child finally arrived? Trying to keep an eye on the Potter brat was increasingly difficult, but necessary. Whatever was going on—and Dumbledore never could be bothered explaining anything in a complete manner—Snape knew it centered around the willful little glory-seeker. It was almost as if the Headmaster only went through the motions of seeing to the boy's safety, while secretly encouraging his worst traits.

"While we are waiting on Albus's leisure, I was wondering if I could speak to you about a student," Minerva murmured.

"Of course."

"It's Miss Granger."

"Oh? What about her?"

"Why are you grading her so harshly?"

"Why do I ever grade harshly?"

"Severus, I hardly think Miss Granger needs to be encouraged to work harder. In fact, I worry about her constitution."

"Why? Has she been ill?"

"Have you even taken a look at the girl lately? She's at her end. And it's because of you. What on earth are you on about with this 'monkey scribbling' nonsense?"

He sighed and pinched his brow. "Minerva, I have my reasons."

"I know you do. But I just want you to take another look at the child. She's under too much strain. She has no leisure activities, no social life, nothing but her studies. It's not natural."

"Surely you are overstating the case. "

"Take a _look_ at her Severus. She is quite possibly the brightest student in her entire year. She is also a socially awkward student with no friends who compensates by throwing herself into her studies in a competitive manner that is unhealthy. She is developing a fixation on proving herself better than those who demean her. _Think_ about that Severus. And think about who else you know that was like that as a child. How well did things turn out for that person?"

Severus turned his head to stare at her so fast that he had to shake his hair back out of his face.

"How dare you…" He was so full of fury that he couldn't even catch his breath to finish the sentence. He jumped up from his seat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. That's when he realized he'd been set up. Oh, not by everyone, but certainly by the usual clique, Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall and Vector. They had obviously been talking about this student for a while and labeled him as the problem. As ever. _Always_. To hell with them. He set his teacup on the table and stormed out of the office.

To hell with Dumbledore as well.

* * *

Severus sat at his desk slashing red ink all over the miserable pile of parchments before him, stopping only for the occasional sip of wine. He finished the last stack and then pulled out his gradebook and opened it up. Tapping his wand on the stack of essays, he then tapped it on the book and sat back, scrubbing his hand down his face. He drained the last of his glass and with a flick, cleaned it and returned it to the shelf. He stood up, gathered his robes around him and lifted the book to see if there were any irregularities before putting it away. Upon occasion he had been known to get the spell wrong when tired.

He blinked as he looked at the page. Setting the book down again, he snatched up the pile of essays and began flipping through them. He repeated the procedure and then looked about his desk and on the floor. He stepped back and pulled his wand out again.

"_Accio Granger's essay!_"

Nothing.

It wasn't here.

She hadn't turned one in.

His head came up, and he looked beyond his office door at his classroom, as if he could see her sitting at her seat. His brows snapped down in anger and his face filled with fury. So. This was his payback for caring.

He snapped his ledger closed and put it away before setting out on his nightly rounds. Woe betide any student caught out after curfew tonight.

* * *

Severus's eyes never stopped moving as he watched his students' hands, waiting for one to make a mistake. His years of practice made him able to prevent the worst disaster, even while his mind was a thousand miles away. Today, all he could think about was the creature reported to be drinking Unicorn blood in the forest. The mind recoiled from the thought. It had to be some sort of creature. What madness would force a man to such lengths? He'd questioned Draco on the matter after his disastrous detention, but as usual, the boy was useless.

He came back to himself just as he saw Padma Patil about to add the wrong amount of liverwort to her cauldron. "Planning on giving someone a nosebleed, Miss Patil? Five points from Ravenclaw for not obeying instructions."

He looked about at the shocked faces in the room, scowling. Ravenclaw rarely lost points. They rarely earned them either. Not that they cared, they never pulled their heads out of their books long enough to notice. Which reminded him…

He'd been so busy thinking about the ramifications of having such a monstrous creature so close to the school he had quite forgotten Miss Granger. He walked over to the table she shared with Megan Jones, a Hufflepuff of the highest order.

As always, her hands moved with precision and her potion looked to be perfect. He loomed over the table, waiting to be noticed, but she was completely absorbed in her work. Miss Jones had nearly shaken herself apart before Miss Granger took note of her classmate's plight and looked to see what the issue was. When she saw him, her eyes widened with curiosity and… sadness.

"Miss Granger, where is your essay from last week?"

"I didn't write one, sir."

"And the purpose of this willful disregard of your responsibility?"

"I hardly saw the purpose of writing it, sir. I could put in several hours on it and get a failing grade, or I could put in several hours on my other courses and get the same failing grade. Sir. Surely, even you can see the logic."

The class went silent at this casual insult, and she looked around as if wondering why they had taken exception.

"If there is no purpose in doing your assignments, then there is hardly a purpose for doing classwork, either." He pulled out his wand and Vanished her potion. "You are dismissed, Miss Granger. I expect to see you at eight o'clock tonight for detention."

He'd anticipated shock, or indignity, even tears, or offended sensibilities. What he hadn't anticipated was resignation and… _disappointment_. She was disappointed in him.

He spun away from her and headed back to the front of the room as she packed up her things and left the class.

* * *

He spent the dinner hour pushing a carrot from one end of his plate to the other, finally looking at Hermione Granger and seeing what the other teachers had been seeing all along.

When he had seen enough, he left the table in a hurry.

He was pacing the floor of his classroom when she finally arrived. He pulled out his watch and checked, only to see she was precisely on time.

"Miss Granger, leave your satchel there and sit here." He pointed to the table in front of his desk. Fresh parchment, ink and quill were there, along with a closed wooden box.

Once she was seated, she folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him. He took in the pinched cheeks, the pallid complexion and the sunken, bruised eyes. How long had she been like this? Damn that Potter brat for taking up all of his recent thoughts and leaving none left for any other student.

"Miss Granger, I am not a man to coddle students. I am not one to sing praises, offer flattery, or hold hands. I don't waste time supervising students that have demonstrated that they need none. I don't call on the same student over and over when I need the others to learn to think for themselves. I have a deep and abiding belief that one only truly learns when one struggles for the truth on their own. What good would it do for me to hand out a test, along with the answer sheet?"

"None, sir."

"Precisely, Miss Granger."

"However, it has come to my attention that perhaps I have judged you wrongly, and therefore, might have done you a disservice."

He watched as her eyes flared with hope. It angered him.

"I thought, perhaps, that you were exceptional. I was close to believing, as your other teachers already do, that you might actually be the brightest witch we have seen in any number of years. I perceived your only flaw as being a dependency on the words of acknowledged experts, and no understanding of how to use your own intuition. I thought you were above average."

He watched the slow horror spread across her face.

"Did I?" He placed his hand on the desk and leaned down to look in her tired, sad eyes. "Did I judge you wrongly?"

He watched as her eyes reddened and realized she was willing herself not to cry. He reveled in the moment he saw her anger spring to life. He contained his smirk when he saw her chin tilt up and her jaw clench.

"No, sir. You were _not_ wrong."

"Then prove it. Before you is a test. Listen and follow my instructions to the letter, and you shall pass. I want you to write an essay on what is in this box. You may _not_ open the box. Begin."

He spun away from the table and retreated to his own chair and turned his attention to his grading.

"May I ask you a question, sir?"

"You may."

"Are you making fun of me?"

His head snapped up, and he was shocked to see she was even paler and more hurt-looking than before.

"Why on earth would I lower myself to that level, Miss Granger?"

"I have no idea. You told me once that it was beneath you to hate a child, but everyone can plainly see that you hold an abiding hatred for Harry Potter. Most people suspect you of trying to kill him during the first Quidditch match of the season. I don't know what to think. I have defended you at every turn. I have entreated people to look at both sides of the issue. I have lost my chance at friendship because I held your words to my heart, above and beyond my own need. And now, I am forced to sit here and write an essay about what is in a box that I am not allowed to open! _Why are you toying with me, sir!_"

He had to struggle past the rage trying to cloud his mind. Always with that thrice-damned Potter. How _DARE_ anyone think he would have tried to harm that little gobshite. He wished to hell that James Potter's spawn would fuck off back to where he'd crawled from. He took a deep breath and stood up and walked back to the table. He again placed his hands on it and leaned into her face.

"I am not toying with you. I am not having a jest at your expense. I am trying to get you over the hurdle that will keep you from realizing your full potential!" He hadn't even realized he'd started yelling until he saw her jump.

"But how on earth am I supposed to—"

"Use your _head_! I cannot tell you! You _must _figure it out for yourself, or it's _meaningless_!"

She took several deep breaths and then gave him a look of such imploring need he almost started screaming again, until she said, "You believe I can do this thing."

He sighed. "_Yes_." He straightened up and went back to his chair and sat down heavily.

He watched as she picked up the quill and stared at the box as if a demon might jump out.

He silently willed her to make the leap. Gods, she had parents that loved her, he'd met them, surely they had given her presents? He'd never been given a present in his life but even he knew the first thing you did was _shake_ the bloody thing. Perhaps she'd never been allowed to. Perhaps the wall she needed to break through had been too firmly cemented into place by the strange in-between status of her culture. Her place in society. Not low enough to be free of the strictures, as he'd been, not high enough to receive any of the benefits that would have compensated for the lack. Perhaps her ilk was simply paralyzed into an inability to think for themselves, always relying on others they respected to do it for them. It was utterly foreign to him. But she hadn't grown up with the absolute lack of trust he had. She still believed there were people out there that would tell her the truth. Snape knew there weren't.

He was still staring at her when her head came up and her eyes widened.

"I cannot open the box."

"No."

Her eyes took on a spark that had been missing for weeks and he hadn't noticed. "But I'm allowed to touch the box, aren't I?"

He almost sagged with relief. "_Yes_."

The spark ignited into a fire, and she grinned in a most un-childlike, almost piratical manner. It was most disturbing, even if it was entirely welcome.

She reached out and lifted the wooden box.

He turned his mind to his grading.

He lost himself in the puerile scribblings of minds too ignorant or too disinterested in the subject matter to make a decent show of things, with the sound of shaking and thumping and the '_hrrrms_' of pondering going on in the background.

He lost track of time.

A polite cough disturbed him, and he looked up to see Miss Granger standing before him, her cheeks flushed with pride and excitement.

"Yes?"

She wordlessly handed him her parchment.

He took it from her and read.

_Based on my observations and manipulations of the box, along with auditory clues, I can say with a certainty that the object in the box is smaller than nine inches in length. It is approximately an inch narrower than the interior width of the box, and it is approximately four inches thinner than the height of the box. _

_I am less certain of the following, but it is my strong belief that the object inside has a weight of about half a pound. It is apparently a singular object, and yet not completely one piece, as it displays a tendency to flop at a different rate and the sounds it makes lead one to belief that it can expand and collapse again._

_It is my belief that the box contains a book._

He placed the paper down on his desk and said, "Bring me the box, Miss Granger."

When she returned to his desk, she held the box out to him, but he gestured for her to continue holding it.

"What if you are wrong, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed hard and tilted her little Gryffindor chin up. "Then I am wrong."

"Exactly," he said quietly. "But you learned from trying, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Open the box, Miss Granger. The content is yours to keep."

She placed the box on his desk and opened the latch, lifting the lid. She smiled and reached inside and pulled out a copy of A Beginner's Guide to Healing Spells.

She looked at him and beamed. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank yourself, Miss Granger. You earned it. There is knowledge in the world that you can only get by using your own mind. You ask so many questions, and yet when it comes to the texts, you question _nothing_. All the books in the library were written by humans, Miss Granger. Not gods. You must discern truth based on your own experience."

He picked up his quill again.

"Your detention is over. I expect your essay on my desk in two days. Your grade will reflect its tardiness."

"Yes, sir."

"You may leave."

He went back to his grading before she'd even left the room.

* * *

And there you have it...


	8. Preordained

AN: Thanks to my overworked betas!

* * *

Hermione hugged her new book to her tightly, as she scampered back to Gryffindor tower. She felt ten pounds lighter than when she had left it to serve her detention. A huge weight of anxiety had been lifted away, and it was almost as if she had to keep herself from floating off the ground.

She was of a fair mind to run around the castle telling each and every person she had ever heard say something bad about Professor Snape, that he was, in fact, the most magnificent person in the castle. She was even of the mind that he was a far better personage than Professor Dumbledore, himself. After all, she _knew_ her Professor. She didn't really know the Headmaster at all. She'd read about him, but those books had been written by mere mortals.

She giggled at her own audacity.

She bounded up the stairs and, after giving the password, through the portrait hole and sat down in a chair by the fire to begin her essay. She kept her new book tucked next to her in the chair as if it were one of her old dolls. Occasionally she would stop and lift it up, open the cover to where it said 'From the Library of Severus Snape,' and stroke her finger across the words as if that would prove they were real. Then she would tuck it away again and throw herself back into creating an essay with her own thoughts.

She was still there, hours later when she heard the sound of feet coming down the stairs. She looked at the clock and then peeked around the side of the chair.

"Who's there?" she heard Ron call out.

"Oh, Hermione!" Harry looked nervous and guilty. "I see you're still working on homework. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I lost track of time. What are you three doing up?" she asked Neville. The guilty looks were universal now. "You're sneaking out again, aren't you?" She planted her fists on her hips. "Don't you think that 150 points is enough to lose? Your adventures are ruining our chances to win the house cup. I'm sorry, but the three of you aren't going anywhere tonight. If you walk out of this room in any direction but the one that leads to your dormitory, I will have to stop you."

Harry looked chagrined but determined. "Look, Hermione—"

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Hermione didn't have any time to react. Neville's hex locked her in place and to her panicked mortification, she started to fall forwards. She landed on her face, which had been frozen open in the act of further reprimand. She couldn't feel anything, but she knew she'd hit the floor hard.

"Hey!" shouted Ron. "What did you do that for?"

"We had to get by, and she was going to stop us. Someone had to do something."

She heard Harry's voice much closer to her ear. "I'm really sorry about this, Hermione. We'll come back and release you soon!"

Ron leaned over and murmured, "I'm really sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Hermione," said Neville from somewhere to the side. "If you understood what was at stake, you would have done the same."

"Do you think we should at least roll her over?" asked Ron.

"I think she might be more upset if she were manhandled," said Harry. "Muggle girls take exception to that sort of thing."

She heard the sound of their boots scuffing across the rug before the portrait door opened and closed. After that, she was left with the sound of the crackling fire.

* * *

She was there all night. The carpet she had been staring at without focus for hours was starting to grow lighter in tone as the sun began to filter in the mullioned windows of the common room. She could hear the stirrings of the other students and was mortified that she was about to be discovered in such an undignified position. Mercifully, when she did finally hear the shocked chattering of the first students down the stairs, she couldn't see them at all.

She had never been so grateful for Lavender and Parvati before. They wiggled through the gathering crowd and announced that since they were Hermione's roommates, it was their responsibility to get her some attention. Between the two of them, they managed to float her up off the floor. As she lifted up off the carpet, she saw something that made her want to start screaming in despair.

"Aye, but would you look at that," said Seamus. "Whoever did this to her broke her pearlies, they did."

"Perhaps Madam Pomfrey can fix them?" said a horrified Lavender.

"Maybe she can even make her look less like she could eat apples through a fence as well," said Seamus. A hand, presumably his, swiped up the broken bits of her teeth and the floor moved swiftly under her as she was floated out the door of the portrait hole and up to the infirmary.

They hadn't made it far into the infirmary when she heard her Professor shout.

"What's this? What has happened?"

"Please, sir. We don't know. We found her like this on the floor of the common room this morning. Is that _Harry?_ What happened to him?"

"Never mind about Potter and his friends. You may all go back to your rooms. Immediately."

"Begging your pardon, Professor Snape, but here's her teeth. We found 'em on the floor under her face."

"Thank you Mr. Finnigan. You may _go_."

She was lifted up higher and turned over swiftly, then deposited down on what she assumed was a bed. The experience was nauseating enough for her to be grateful that she was Petrified or she might have been sick.

"Alas, poor Miss Granger." The Headmaster's voice drew closer to the bed. "Mr. Weasley tried to tell me something about her, but his injuries were too great. From what I gather, I suspect our newest patient tried to stop the boys from leaving their tower last night."

"Headmaster, surely you can see my logic now. Not only did they nearly get themselves killed last night, but they have willfully harmed another student. They should be summarily dismissed, the three of them."

"Now, now, Severus. They also stopped a dangerous plot and confirmed my worst suspicions, thus giving us some much needed warning. I believe the good outweighs the bad."

Professor Snape actually growled.

Hermione would have been intrigued by the conversation had she not been too busy being mortified. She was stuck lying on her back looking up at the ceiling with her mouth gaping open and an unknown number of teeth broken. She had no idea how many people could see her like this.

"Now, since our esteemed school nurse is busy with her other charges, I will see what I can do about our little trooper here."

The Headmaster's face floated into her line of vision, eyes twinkling merrily down on her.

"Miss Granger, I am going to remove the hex now. Unfortunately, you might experience a sudden pain. You have suffered an injury. I will want you to sit up as fast as you can and drink the potion that Professor Snape is procuring for you at this moment. All right? There's a girl, and here's our Potions master with the remedy."

The Headmaster's face disappeared and she heard the words, "Finite Incantatum."

Nerves. All the nerves in her mouth surged back to life at once, and the pain was overwhelming. She screamed. Memories of all the sounds from all the patients in her parents' practice flooded her with new understanding, and she continued to scream and scream and scream.

There were voices shouting and hands pulled at her own hiding her face and trying to press the incredible pain away, but she was beyond being able to acknowledge them. Beyond being able to communicate. Beyond rationality. She was locked in a nightmare where she was one of her parents' patients, and her choices were to be in pain and wither until she died, or to be in worse pain only to end up healthy and permanently disfigured. She continued to scream until she heard a loud voice shout, "_Stupefy!_" and then the pain stopped as blackness flooded across her world.

* * *

Snape lowered his wand with a shaking hand. He stared at the girl in shock. Certainly tears and discomfort were to have been expected, nearly all of her front teeth had been shattered, but the howling creature on the bed acted as if she had been Crucioed. Panic filled him with dread, and he quickly cast spells that he hadn't used in years. Spells that he'd needed to learn when he'd been the one curled up into a ball howling. His diagnostics picked up no trace of Dark magic, thank the merciful fates.

"Anything?" asked Dumbledore with sober concern.

"No. Nothing except for that which we see. Whatever that was all about, there was no curse involved." Snape raised his eyes to Dumbledore. A darting look at the other beds made him cast a strong Silencing Charm around the girl's bed. "_Yet_. It could easily have been. As long as that boy is in the school, every student will be in danger. The Dark Lord was _in_ the school, Albus. Right under our noses, and this entire year you have been downplaying my concern. I sensed something was wrong about Quirrell from the start, and you acted like I was playing jealous bridesmaid. I sense the same thing about the boy. There is something dark about him. He is a danger to everyone around him. Look at Mr. Weasley. And Longbottom could have easily been killed, he's barely got enough magic to defend his toad! Can you imagine what would have happened if they had made it _past_ my ward? If they had, by some chance, actually recovered the Philosopher's Stone before Quirrell grew impatient and attacked?"

"Severus, I will not, nor have I ever, ignored your expertise in this. However, I have my reasons, and I cannot tell them to you."

"Why not? Why ever not? Why leave your best sword half blunted?"

Dumbledore gave him a look of such concern and worry that Severus actually stepped back.

"Because I fear that this was only the first attempt, my boy. That thing is all fury and purpose and will not stop now. Tom Riddle is still not at his final rest. I fear he will come back. Not just to Hogwarts, but to life. And when he does, he will call his faithful."

Snape swallowed thickly as the blood drained from his body to his legs, making them suddenly shaky and weak. This was it. This was the doom he'd felt crawling towards him all this time.

"And I will be one of them," he said in a dry voice. "So you cannot tell me what you do not want him to know."

He looked down at the student who he'd helped overcome her own limitations just the night before. He could still taste the satisfaction he'd felt for hours afterwards, until he'd been alerted to the situation with Mr. Potter. And now she was lying insensate, curled into a ball. Victimized by the hero of the day.

She'd been innocent. He looked at her and sighed. She was Muggle-born. Mudblood. If his understanding of what Dumbledore was implying was correct, then his very life could be in danger over lesser things than helping her hone her mind. He looked back at the Headmaster.

"I can't."

"You must."

He felt the blow like a kick in the gut. "This is why you kept me all these years. Not to be a champion, but to be a spy."

"Spies are silent champions, Severus."

Understanding lit a corner of his mind. "This is why you refused to allow me to confront Quirrell. You knew he was in league with the Dark Lord. You knew if I discovered his secret, I would have fought him."

"And Riddle would have still made his escape, knowing you were my man completely now."

"You play fast and loose with my life, Albus."

"The stakes are all or nothing. I cannot afford to be softhearted. You more than anyone understand what is at play on the table."

Oh, yes. He knew quite well what the stakes were.

"What say you, Severus. Are you still my man?"

He looked down on the girl in the bed, with her broken mouth and her tear streaked face. "I am," he replied.

"I am most gratified to hear that. Now, let's see about our patient here."

* * *

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror and wept silently. Her face was a mass of mottled bruises, already fading to light green. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from the tears she'd cried when the pain had gripped her in his claws, but the pain itself was only a memory. What made her cry was her teeth.

They were perfect. They were neat and white and everything she had ever wished they could have been. She remembered her mother's warning about how life only cruelly teased their kind with glimpses of paradise and understood the lesson her mother had been desperate to teach.

She pulled her robes tightly around her and hurried out of the lavatory and down to the dungeons.

Her timid knock was answered immediately by a curt, "Come."

She pushed open the door and slipped inside her Potion master's office and over to his desk.

"Miss Granger," he said. "To what do I owe the interruption?"

"Sir, there is a matter of some urgency that I must ask your advice about."

"Yes? Go on."

"It's my teeth, sir." She lifted her head up and looked him in the eye as she opened her mouth and clenched her jaw, embarrassed at treating herself like a horse being judged as to its age.

"What about them? I see no difference. Are you now to be a vain girl like all the others?"

"How can you say there is no difference?" Realizing she had raised her voice when he had raised his eyebrow, she hastily added, "Sir." She clasped her hands together and wrung them. "They are perfect."

"And? Get to the point, you silly little girl, I have things to attend that have far more importance than whether or not your teeth are perfect."

"It's my parents, sir. They are dentists. Or, rather, my father is a dentist, but my mother is also expert in the field, if in an unacknowledged way. My former teeth were healthy and strong but rather large with a pronounced flaw in the fact that they stuck out rather unattractively. I can think of no way to explain their sudden state to people that know my visage as intimately as a set of parents that pay particular attention to a person's _mouth_."

He laid his quill down on his blotter and sat back. "I begin to see the point."

"I knew you would, sir."

"Have you considered telling your parents the truth? It struck me that they were rather forward-thinking individuals."

"They are, sir. But even they have their limits."

"Do you want them returned to their former state?"

She couldn't masque the disappointment and hurt. "Yes, sir. I fear that is exactly what must be done."

He looked at her for a long time in silence, and she bowed her head to evade his penetrating gaze.

"Miss Granger, if there were another alternative available, would you accept it?"

"I would, sir. I am not usually vain by nature. How can one be when one has been told they have no redeeming qualities repeatedly? However, I find I am loathe to go back to how I was."

"Then you will trust this situation to me. I will take care of it; however, there is a caveat. You must never mention my part in this, and in the future, you must take these issues, and any others you might have in the future, to your own Head of House. I have enough students to take care of without the added work of mollycoddling Gryffindors."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I will make sure not to bother you in the future, sir."

"See that you don't."

* * *

Severus Snape walked through the streets of London in his best Muggle morning coat of soft grey, with a matching hat, and a fine walking stick. He felt like a fop. He usually kept to a more subdued style of dress, but as the saying went, if you are in Rome, live as the Romans do.

He could have hired a hackney carriage, but he needed the walk. His gut still burned with anger and resentment over the Leaving Feast the night before. How dare Dumbledore change the points at the last minute like that? And the way he had called out Miss Granger as the recipient of just enough points to steal the cup from Slytherin was like throwing acid in his face. Bastard.

The long walk did little to calm his mood, or if it had, then it was certainly needed, for if his mood had been any worse, he'd be close to raving. He had to have his wits about him for this task he had set himself, and if he was any angrier he would make a hash of things for sure.

He found himself at the doorstep sooner than expected and looked up again at the window where he'd first spied the girl. He remembered the shiver that had gone through him when he'd first thought her a ghost. Ghosts that haunted Muggle houses were often violent and unreasonable and not to be dealt with lightly. He snorted. She might not have been a ghost, but Miss Granger was still not to be taken lightly.

He gained the stair and rapped on the door with his cane.

A rising wail from beyond the door made every hair on his body stand up. He shouldn't have been thinking of ghosts, surely his imagination was playing tricks on him. The door opened and the sound of shouting grew louder. No, that wasn't a shout, it was a blood-curdling cry from the soul. Only the placid look on the housekeeper's face kept him from reaching for his wand and bursting into the house.

"May I help you? Oh, I say! You're the gentleman from Miss Granger's school!"

"Indeed. I was in the neighborhood and was hoping to be able to have a few words with her parents if I may."

"Come in. I'll take your things."

He followed her into the small foyer and stripped off his gloves, handing them over along with his walking stick.

"If you'll wait here sir, I will see if the mistress of the house is available. Please don't mind the cries. Doctor Granger is with a patient. It will be over very soon. He really is a gentle doctor; the poor people already come in such pain, and they are always better off for his care."

Snape didn't reply. He just nodded his head, as the housekeeper turned to walk away.

The sound of screaming and begging went on, and he found himself moving without his own volition to the doorway off the entryway. In a normal house, this would be a parlor. He pulled aside the curtain just enough to peer into the surgery. What he saw made him shudder. How barbaric. How tragic. These foolish Muggles had no concept of how their lives would have been improved had they not chosen to persecute his kind. There was no pain remedy. No antiseptic. Nothing looked sterile, only clean. Except for Mr. Grangers' hands. They were covered in blood, as was the pile of rags he wiped them on.

Severus finally had an understanding of what had gone on inside Miss Granger's head when her hex had been removed. This is what she'd lived with. This is certainly the first association she would have had. By Jove, no wonder she'd gone spare.

He stepped away from the curtain and back to the door as the housekeeper made her way back down the stairs.

"The missus will see you, sir. Right this way."

Snape followed behind her with a nod, slipping his wand out of his sleeve.

Severus headed down the drive, away from Lady Granger's overly grand home. It was such a statement to bad taste. As was Lady Granger. _That_ woman had been the most absurd Muggle creature he'd dealt with in a dog's age.

He hated dealing with Muggles. He had since he'd finally gone off to school. And especially Muggles of her class and above. They always made him feel like he was unworthy, and he resented it with a steady burn that hadn't gone away since he'd been nearly run down in the street by an Earl's coach, as a wee tyke, and kicked for his pains by the outrider.

Thank goodness that Miss Granger was an only child and a solitary little mouse of a girl. He was drained to his core and grateful that there were few people in her life whose memories needed tampering with. It wasn't the altering of memories that was so draining. It was the scouring of their memories to find who else needed to be dealt with that tired him. There was another Aunt in Devon that she was fairly close to, but he thought enough time had passed since she'd seen the child that her teeth might not be an issue. He was too tired to Apparate back to The Leaky, never mind Devon.

Now that he was done with his mission, he put aside all thoughts of his student. He had performed this last service as a form of letting go. From here on in, pains taken with Muggle-born students could be fatal. He had no idea how long it would be before the Dark Lord rose again, but there was no longer a doubt in his mind that he would. Best thing for it was to start planning for the eventuality.

He headed down the avenue, blending in with the other people of the town out strolling, making their early calls, dropping their cards, putting a great deal of importance on the simple act of inviting someone over for some fucking tea. He detested them all.

* * *

Happy Snapemas Day!


	9. Secrets

**AN:** Thank you to all my wonderful readers!

* * *

Hermione was only home for two days, before her father called her into the sitting room after dinner.

"Hermione, your mother and I have recently decided that having my surgery below is simply not healthy for a young girl. In light of this, we have decided to make some changes. I will be moving my practice to a different location, and will be supplementing the added expense by taking on a paying apprentice."

Hermione's eyes widened with surprise, and a relief she couldn't hide. She wondered if this sudden new decision had anything to do with the fact that no one in the household, or even her Grandmother's seemed to have noticed her teeth.

"Ah, lamb. I can see you are pleased with the idea," her father remarked. "It will be some time before we can get things situated, and so your mother and I have decided to send you on holiday in Devon until we can make the needed changes around here."

"Devon? Are you talking about Aunt Alice?"

She looked over at her mother and found her smiling. Hermione's heart thumped in her chest. Her mother's older sister was, by far, her favorite relative. An eccentric of the highest order, Aunt Alice had been married off to an older man who was so happy with his young bride, that he'd died quickly to reward her and left her a good bit of wealth and property in his will. Alice had never married again to show her thanks for such a magnanimous gesture.

"We will be rather sad to have you gone," said her mother, "since we only just got you back after so long away, but we think it for the best."

"I admit, I'm not happy to be away from you so soon, but I would love to go. I haven't seen Alice in years. I do so love Otterwold."

"And go you shall. Your mother will take you shopping tomorrow, and then Monday next, we will get the two of you on a coach for Ottery St. Catchpole for the summer."

"Thank you!" She jumped up and ran around the table to hug her father tightly.

* * *

The coach bounced heavily as it turned onto a well-rutted road, jarring Hermione out of the partial doze. She reached up automatically and adjusted her bonnet, before pulling at her Spencer trying to get some air. She wanted to take it off, but the loathsome cretin sitting across from her was the reason she had put it on after the first stop. The way he stared at her budding décolletage had made her distinctly uncomfortable. It had taken some time to get used to the change from her high-necked school uniform, to the low-cut muslin gowns she'd grown up in again. She'd taken to wearing her mother's lace fichu, tucked into the front, to try and undermine the style's determination to show off more skin than she was ready to. Even that hadn't been proof against leering.

Her mother woke up with a start and looked around blinking. She gave her daughter a wry smile and swiped delicately at the bit of drool on her lip.

"How much longer?" Her mother asked her quietly.

"Almost there. We just turned onto the Stoatshead road.

"Marvelous news. I do love my sister, but I so hate to travel."

"Can you not spend the summer as well?"

"No. Just the week. I want to help get the surgery in order for the move, and your father has asked me to help him chose a new location."

Hermione nodded and looked out the window again at the rolling landscape, dotted with apple orchards and wheat fields.

Half an hour later they rolled into Ottery St. Catchpole. Hermione was grateful for the hand that helped her down, as she wasn't sure she wouldn't simply fall out of the carriage. She went and sat on the bench perched along the low stone wall of the small inn, while her mother directed their luggage down from the top of the coach.

The town was rather small, but highly pleasant, featuring the inn and a church with a nicely laid out churchyard on the north end of the square, and to the south, a blacksmith, farrier, harness maker and wheelwright. Heading out of the center to the north east were more shops, with a bookseller, a draper, the post, and one or two more shops if she remembered correctly. She hadn't been here in over two years.

She loved it here. Aside from her former home in Pearheath, this was the place most often thought of to fend off her darkest moments.

The summer sun felt warm against her skin and after the coach had loaded back up and headed on to the next town, she finally shrugged out of her Spencer. They didn't need to wait long before a landau pulled into the square with a team of unmatched horses. The driver hopped down, and Hermione got up from the bench and bobbed to her Aunt's old coachman, Pete.

"Hello, Mrs. Granger, good teh see yeh. And look at this mite, not so small anymore, are yeh?" Come, come. I know yehs tired after all that jouncing. Lemme get yer things up off the ground here and we'll have yeh home in a jiffy. Mrs. Perthwit is in a right state waiting for yehs, she is."

Twenty minutes later, and Hermione was alighting from the carriage in front of a stately house, with a long graveled drive lined with chestnut trees, and glorious fields spreading out to the hills on either side. There was a walled garden to the east side and a glassed in conservatory to the west. It had once belonged to a wealthy country squire, but had been bought by her aunt's departed husband when that family had fallen on hard times and sold off the unentailed properties.

Mr. Perthwit, a nabob who had made himself quite the fortune in the East Indies, had spent many years improving the property before he had finally decided that the last thing it needed was a pretty young wife to adorn it.

The front door flew open, and a loud cry of happiness announced Aunt Alice. She was in her late thirties and wore her age well. Still a very handsome woman; she wore a whimsical, silk turban over her curly, blond hair, that matched her deep burgundy silk gown. To Hermione, newly aware of such things, it was cut shockingly low but had a high, stiff collar that fanned out behind her neck. Hermione thought she looked splendid.

"There you are! _There_ you are, my darlings! Helen! You look absolutely fetching in that frock." She opened her arms wide. "My _dearest_ sister!"

"_Only_ sister, Alice," her mother replied with a droll laugh, giving her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Regardless, you are my favorite person, aside from this young girl beside you. Hello, Hermione, welcome back to Otterwold. My dear child, you have grown! And look how pretty you are! I told you she would grow into those teeth, Helen. You only needed to give her some time!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Her teeth are fine, always were."

Hermione froze for a moment, as Alice gave her sister a quizzical look.

"Indeed," Alice said finally. "That is what I always said. It is of no matter. Come in! Come in! I have tea and cake waiting for you, and then we shall get you both to your rooms for a proper lie down." She wrapped her arms around Hermione's elbow and walked them up the wide front steps. "I have so many splendid things planned for us this week. I'm having a lawn party tomorrow and have invited only those neighbors that can hold meaningful conversation. After that, I shall take you both around the countryside, and we shall picnic in the park. I have a few more things on the list, but I thought I would let you dictate how the rest of the week should go, Helen, as this is such a short visit for you."

The week went quickly. The garden party was, to Hermione's surprise, quite fun. The parson's children, Fredrick and Henrietta Janssen, were a year older and a year younger, respectively, and very welcoming. They were new to their parish, and so Hermione had never met them before. Fredrick was a dead shot at lawn bowl, and Henrietta admitted to a quiet passion for cricket. The other children were all younger, and Hermione had a pleasant time chasing them around in an endless game of hide and seek in the rhododendron garden.

Every morning, she would ride out with her mother and aunt, through the pasturage on her aunt's property and into the Earl's park. The Earl was apparently never in residence, keeping to either London or another of his homes, but his property was kept in immaculate condition, and riding through its old trees and across the splendid ornamental bridges was pure pleasure.

Eventually, the time came to see her mother off, and Hermione was conflicted by how much she would miss her and how grateful she was not to be returning to London, herself. She'd been away from her parents for an entire school year, and yet seemed overly willing to not see them for the summer. The guilt put her out of sorts.

"There you are. I should have known I would find you here," Alice said upon finding her in the library. "Come, this isn't good for you. Not the reading, mind, I highly approve of that, but this maudlin continence. You will find the summer will pass soon enough, and then you will be back with your family again." She walked over and plucked the copy of Shakespeare's, _The Tempest_, out of her hands, marked the page with a feather she pulled from her hair turban, and closed it.

Hermione admired Alice's crazy collection of turbans. The biggest reason being that they had the same head of wild curls, but Alice had liberated herself by cutting them all off and slapping her turbans on to hide the fact. Hermione thought that was a deliciously wicked thing to have done.

Holding out her hand, Alice said, "Come with me. I have a secret to show you."

Hermione uncurled herself from the chair and took her hand with a smile. Her aunt folded her hand around her own arm and patted it as she led her out of the library.

"You come from a long line of blue-stockings, child. Blame it on your father, as I blame it on mine, and my mother blamed it on hers. The women in our family are too smart for our own good, and have been overindulged by our fathers. With the exception of my own husband, God rest his soul, we have always attracted men who valued our intelligence, and then spoiled their daughters shamelessly when they saw it had passed to another generation. The weight of our intellect demands support; however, the weight of society demands discretion. Thus, we are smart in secret. Having a secret can be a good thing, Hermione. Holding onto a mystery about yourself can see you through the darkest times. I will show you mine, so that in the future, you can have an idea of how to construct your own."

She led her up the stairs, toward her own rooms.

"Mr. Perthwit, may he rest in eternal peace, broke with tradition. All he wanted was a beauty. I actually had to work rather hard to infuse myself with the tittering insipidness that he found so charming. I did so well at my dramatics that he indulged me in any way I wished. My one wish was a private chamber of my own. This is where I keep my secret.

"Even after his passing, bless him for his timing, a mere eighteen months after our union, I kept it a secret. I know I didn't really have to, but I wanted to. It became part of the fun."

She walked across her large and well-appointed bed chamber to a small door. "In here is my secret self. This is where I hide when life gets a little blue. Go on, open the door."

Hermione gave her a quizzical smile, unsure what she would find beyond the small door. She turned the knob and pulled. When she saw the inside, she gasped. She stepped in and whirled in a small circle before looking at her aunt with a bright smile.

"This is amazing!"

Her aunt clapped her hands in delight. "I knew you would approve!"

Hermione looked around again, at the hundreds, if not thousands, indeed, there might even be a hundred thousand, specimens of insects pinned inside frames, displayed under glass, covering the walls of the surprisingly large room filled with sunlight streaming in from the windows.

"How long have you collected insects?"

"Oh, it must be almost twenty years. I thought them fascinating as a child, but it wasn't until Mr. Perthwit, may he rest in peace, eternally, told me I should find myself a hobby that the idea came to me. I have no doubts that he intended something more along the lines of drawing or painting."

"This is simply marvelous!"

"I know! And it is ever so much more than a hobby now. I am actually a recognized authority on the subject of local population variants. I've had several papers published, and at least once a year I am asked to give a lecture to the Royal Society."

"How exciting! What is that like?"

"Oh, I never go. They would probably have a fit of the vapors if I did. I publish everything under a pseudonym. They think I am a man." She laughed, and walked over to the neat desk in the corner and picked up a paper she had been working on and handed it to Hermione. "No, I just write the lecture and send it off, and they squabble amongst themselves as to who gets the honor of delivering the speech for me. You see, _Mr. Alistair Perth_, is of delicate health, after his forays into the Hindu Kush as a young man." She giggled like a little girl. "I've made myself an entire biography. My alter ego is quite the distinguished gentleman. I've left instruction with a lawyer in London, that upon my death, my entire collection will be donated to the Royal Society along with the truth. I only wish I could hang around as a ghost and haunt them to drive the point home."

She took her paper back and laid it on the desk, before sitting down and arranging the folds of her morning dress fastidiously.

"My mother's passion was mathematics. You mother's was teeth, of all things. I doubt they ever told you this, but it was Helen that fired John Granger's interest in the subject. I am only sorry they reached such a level of success. Now she has to hide. It cannot be easy for her." Alice waved a regal hand. "That is neither here, nor there. The point of this little expedition to the hidden reaches of Otterwold, is to show you that you're not alone. You are not so singular as to be entirely misunderstood. You are young yet; there is plenty of time to find your own passion and create your own secret, but when the dog does bite you, so-to-speak, know that in our family, it is perfectly normal.

"The trick is in choosing your partner. Either find a man you can share your secret with, one like your father and mine, who will not just take pride in, but adore, your mind, or find one who is nearly decrepit and already suffering from an affliction, like my dearest Phillip, rest his soul. Those are your only two options. Do not marry for love alone, and do not marry a healthy man out of practicality, or you will either starve, or wither. You are the captain of your own ship, Hermione, but the currents are always against you."

Alice rose up from her chair. "Enough. That is all the advice on that subject you shall ever receive from me. I wanted to jolt you out of your melancholy, not dictate how you should run your life when you are merely twelve years old."

"You have done both with great success," Hermione reassured her. "In fact, if I could count on your absolute discretion, I would share with you the fact that I already have a secret."

Alice sat back down in her chair with a delighted smile and pulled a stool out from under a bench and patted it. Hermione sat down and folded her hands in her lap nervously.

"You have my utter discretion. I give you my solemn vow."

"I would need one. In fact, it would be rather mandatory. You see, my secret is of such strangeness as to be easily dismissed, and yet, the consequences of my telling you would be severe if you were to ever let it slip."

Alice's smile faltered and her face became serious. "You have my word. But I think you ought to tell me right now. I admit to disliking the idea of a child you age carrying a secret that sounds more like a burden. Are you in any trouble, Hermione?"

"No! No. It's not quite the way it sounds. You see, I'm a witch."

Alice looked at her for a long time without blinking.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," she finally said.

"I'm magic. I can do magic. I know it sounds fantastical, and it probably makes me sound like a candidate for Bedlam, but it's true. The school that I go to is not a finishing school for young ladies and gentlemen; it is a school where we learn how to control our magic and train to use it in all manner of ways."

Hermione squirmed under Alice's piercing look.

"Your teeth," she finally said. Hermione sagged with relief and nodded vigorously.

"There was an accident of a sort, and my teeth were all broken. They fixed them with a spell, but… I think they thought they were doing me a favor. I asked one of the teachers to put them back the way they were. I could never explain this to anyone, let alone _my_ parents. Instead, my teacher seems to have… Well, I don't know what he did. But my parents, Cook, Mrs. Crabtree, even Lady Granger, Charles, her other maids… None of them noticed anything. You're the first."

Alice sat back in her chair and blew out a breath.

"Do your parents know?"

"No. I've not the courage to tell them. I have reason to suspect that they would be less than pleased."

Alice nodded slowly, looking out the window to the hills beyond.

"Hermione… When you were a child, a baby really, you did something I've never been able to forget. Your parents were off on their morning ride, and I was walking with you in the field. A butterfly came and danced about your face. When it flitted off again, you were quite upset, as most children are. However, not a moment later, an entire cloud of butterflies came up from every part of the property and swarmed us. I was actually rather terrified, and I ran with you back into the house with this hoard of parti-colored Lepidoptera on my tail."

She pressed her hand to her bosom. "Your parents refused to believe me with an almost violent anger. I was always rather suspicious of that."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "They say that we're supposed to come into our magic young. But my one experience that I can remember, I was about seven, resulted in such shame that it seems I managed to drive my magic away. That is, until last year. I came to the attention of the school after an episode of uncontrolled magic, and they sent someone off to collect me. Their kind hides from the world, ever since the witch trials and the burnings."

"Well, they're rather smart then, I say. However, I suspect your parents already know on some level. I won't counsel you in this, but take that into account. Having this sort of secret isn't particularly healthy."

"True, but it is better than being sent off to a hospital or burned at the stake."

"Pshaw. As if I would have even allowed that. Can you show me some magic?"

Hermione pulled her wand from the pocket she had sewn into her skirt and waved it in the air, causing a cascade of sparks. Alice clapped her hands together and marveled.

"That's all I can really show you, actually. Underage witches and wizards are not allowed to use their magic anywhere but at school. They have ways of knowing when we do, and I would get into a lot of trouble."

"_Wizards_… That sounds so… delicious, actually. Can I meet one?"

"I promise, someday. But I don't know any well enough to invite them to tea anytime soon."

"Surely we could invite a friend from school to spend some time?"

Hermione squirmed on her stool and looked down at the floor. "I don't actually have any."

"Oh." Alice gave her a look filled with too much understanding to be comfortable. "Come, let's retreat to my boudoir and order up some tea. I want to hear all about your school and why you don't seem to have any friends."

After that they developed a habit of retreating to Alice's research chamber in the afternoons, where Alice taught her an enormous amount about insects, and Hermione showed her the spells in her school books and could study without fear of discovery.

For the rest of the summer, they never mentioned either insects or magic outside of the confines of Alice's rooms, with the singular exception of that first night during dinner, when Alice tossed her fork down onto her plate with a huff and said, "_Muggle_. What a wretched word. I don't particularly like being termed a _Muggle_."

Hermione had giggled into her lemonade.

For the rest of the summer, she spent her time reading, riding, walking, strolling, and even painting a bit. She had lunch at least once a week with Fredrick and Henrietta, and they became fast friends. She wandered across the countryside on long, rambling walks, and thoroughly enjoyed her time.

* * *

Aunt Alice found a way to see magic. At the end of Hermione's summer visit, she'd packed her things as well and personally took Hermione back to London. They made a side trip to The Leaky Cauldron, and with the help of Mr. Tatterwing, went on through to Diagon Alley, for the express purposes of outfitting Hermione for school. Certainly not just to satisfy an overcurious aunt.

Alice was speechless during the entire time it took to exchange currency at Gringotts, and Hermione was hard pressed to keep her from purchasing a copy of _Holometabolous Insects, and their Uses in Potion Making_, explaining for the fifth time the Statute of Secrecy and its accompanying penalties.

Alice pouted, but gave in when she realized that the alternative was having her memories tampered with.

They had lunch in The Leaky, simply because Alice needed to chatter desperately about everything she had seen before she could hope to keep a straight face in front of Hermione's parents. When luncheon was finished, Hermione jumped up from her chair and barreled into a man behind her.

"Oh! Forgive me! I'm terribly sorry—"

Hermione's apology died in the face of the look of pure malice she received from Mr. Malfoy. He stared at her as if she had spit on him, and then his gaze slid over to her aunt and only became ruder.

He turned to his son and said, "Come, Draco. I see the quality of the establishment has fallen to an all new low, when they will let anyone in. Let us take ourselves elsewhere."

Draco laughed at his father's remark and gave Hermione a sneer as well. The two of them stormed away.

Alice put her hand on Hermione's shoulder and drew her close. "Is that one of your purebloods?"

"Yes. If you listen to Draco, the _purest_."

"I find I'm rather more comfortable being a mere Muggle now," Alice quipped with a smirk. "Come. Let's get your things together and get you home. Your parents have been waiting long enough."

They gathered Hermione's packages and books and turned to find yet another wizard staring down at them.

"Hello, Professor!" Hermione smiled widely at seeing her teacher once more. "This is my Aunt, Mrs. Phillip Perthwit. Alice, this is one of my teachers, Professor Snape."

"How do you do, madam?" he said, with a distinct lack of warmth.

"Very well ,indeed, sir. We've just been to fetch Hermione's new school things."

"How fascinating," he replied with a condescending sneer. "Miss Granger, do take care. There are reasons we have rules." His black eyes slid from Hermione, to her aunt, and back again, before he turned and left without further word.

They watched him billow out the back door and then made for the front quickly.

"Another pureblood?"

"I believe so, yes."

"I'm not sure I entirely like these purebloods."

"I'm sure that's fine, since they have no use for us either. But I will say that Professor Snape isn't like the rest."

"You can't tell that by his manners."

"No, that much is patently true. He does have some, though. You should have seen him the night he arrived to pick me up. Father was in full Granger-mode, and the Professor set him down with amazing skill."

"I would have liked to see that. I do love when your father goes Granger. In fact, I would love to see your Professor go toe-to-toe with your Grandmother herself. I'd even pay to see it."

Hermione giggled as Pete helped her up into their carriage. "I would as well."

* * *

Second Year coming up!


	10. Smitten

**AN:** Updates are slow because I am driving my betas nuts with last minute changes. Have mercy, O/CD is hell. On with the show!

* * *

Hermione's remaining summer was just as enjoyable as her stay in Devon. Aunt Alice stayed for a week, taking them to the Theater and Hyde Park and buying them all ices after a visit to see the Crown Jewels.

Father had indeed moved his practice to a new location, taking on a paying apprentice to help defray the costs even further, so the house was blessedly silent.

When the summer was over and she had to pack her trunks, she wept sad tears, wishing she could stay and go at the same time.

She climbed into the hired hansom next to Mrs. Crabtree and waved to her parents with a quivering lip, until they were lost to sight.

Just as she had over the Christmas and Easter holidays, Mrs. Crabtree went apoplectic at the sight of the people gathered around the Thestral carriages. Again, she demanded the driver take them back forthwith, so she could explain to the Grangers just what sort of people they had delivered their daughter to.

Again, Mr. Tatterwing Obliviated the housekeeper with a smile and a stooped bow. Hermione watched Mrs. Crabtree set off back toward their home with a smile and a wave.

"Hello, Hermione!" She turned to see Ron waving at her from where his family stood in a cluster. Harry was with to them too, dressed like a common street urchin. He was caught up in a chat with Neville. Hermione bristled like a cat.

"Hello, Ron."

"Now, don't be mad at me. I'm really very sorry about what happened that night. And you did get nice teeth out of it? I bet that made you happy."

"Actually, Ronald, that caused me even more problems. Honestly, how exactly was I supposed to explain brand new teeth to my parents?"

"Oh, sorry. That must have been awful. How did you explain it?"

"The situation was taken care of for me, thank you very much."

"Look, Hermione. I felt awful about what happened. I'm really terribly sorry. I know I already apologized, but I spent all summer trying to figure out how to say it again. I don't want you to be mad with me. Could we start again?" He stuck out his hand. "Hello, I'm Ronald Weasley."

Hermione scrunched up her face but then let slip a wry smile. She sighed and held out her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Ronald." She shook his hand quickly. "I would appreciate it most sincerely if you would stop creating situations where you have to apologize to me in the future."

"I promise."

"Good. Well, then. Did you enjoy your summer holiday?"

"I did, in fact. Harry was able to spend some time with us. But that's his story to tell. How about yourself?"

"I had a lovely summer. I spent a great deal of time with my Aunt. I so love it there. She lives in Devon."

"So do we! I wish we'd known you were nearby. What part of Devon?"

"Ottery St—"

"—Catchpole? That's where I live! Oh, what dashed luck! You were my neighbor!"

"Then you might know my Aunt! Mrs. Phillip Perthwit?"

"No, we don't actually know any Muggles. We do know a few of the other Wizarding families around. The Diggorys and the Lovegoods.

"Say, Hermione, my sister Ginny is starting this year. You'll look after her in the girls' dorm, won't you?" He turned and pointed to a young witch standing by his mother looking excited and lost at the same time.

"I will. I'll go and introduce myself now."

"I would be grateful. I'll go and round up Harry. We were late, so we didn't get a chance to get ready. I need to grab him and change into our uniforms in the Leaky before my Mum has a conniption. Save us a seat on the carriage!"

"I will!"

Hermione smiled as she watched Ron hurry over to Harry and tug his sleeve. Harry grabbed for his valise, and they headed inside.

Hermione piled into a carriage with Ginevra Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville, and even though they had saved the boys a seat, the carriages left without Harry and Ron.

* * *

Snape was heading to the feast when Dumbledore stopped him in the hallway.

"Might I have a moment of your time, Professor?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

"It seems that we are short two students. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley did not arrive with the others." Dumbledore gave him a significant look over the heads of the students scurrying by.

Snape's gut clenched with instantaneous concern. Had something terrible happened to Potter? Had it started already? Was this it?

"I would be grateful, if you could look into it for me."

"Of course, Headmaster. Immediately."

He spun on his heel and headed off out the front doors. Unsure of where to start, he headed for the stables first.

The Thestrals had already been released back into the forest, and a quick look showed him all the carriages were empty. He checked for any traces of Dark Magic and found none.

The sound of a tremendous impact had him hurrying out of the stables. He stopped short when he saw an entire coach-a-bower thrown from the Whomping Willow, with its ghost horses thrashing in the air.

Someone had been enchanting Muggle coaches again, and he would put his Galleons on it having been Arthur Weasley.

The carriage door flew open, and the missing boys seemed to be tossed out, along with their luggage. The coach took off for the forest with the boys shouting behind it uselessly.

Snape's rage was such that he took a full minute to calm himself before he headed up the sloping hill after them

He caught up with them outside the window to the Great Hall. He was less than pleased to hear that he was the topic of discussion.

"Maybe he left, because he wasn't given the Defense position again!"

"Or maybe he was sacked! I mean, everyone hates him—"

"Or maybe he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive with the Thestral carriages," he intoned. He indulged himself with a smile when he saw them give a guilty start. Surely, Dumbledore couldn't ignore _this_. "Follow me," he ordered.

* * *

"Leave it to those two," snapped Hermione, as she braided Ginny's hair for bed. "They've only been back one day, and already they're in trouble and already they're complaining about some dark plot. I mean seriously. Why would anyone lock them in the men's facilities at the Leaky? I'm surprised Neville wasn't with them."

"I blame Ron," Ginny said. "Harry's too nice to be the sort to cause people trouble intentionally, but Ron is always making a hash of things. I shudder to think what will happen when my parents find out they stole the coach-a-bower. My father could get in serious trouble if the Ministry finds out he's been charming Muggle coaches. There was a fellow over in Ireland that was caught when his charmed coach went out of control. It started stopping to pick up Muggles and carried them off. It was a mess. There was no way to Obliviate everyone who saw it. The Ministry imposed heavy fines after that."

"I wouldn't count on Ron being the only guilty party. From what I could see last year, the three of them had a tendency to whip themselves into a lather over the silliest things."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't a silly thing."

Hermione tied the braid off with a red ribbon that clashed marvelously with the girl's auburn hair.

"I really need to take more time and read up on this Voldemort. I really don't know much beyond what he did to Harry's family. I did miss a good bit of the gossip last year. I'm afraid I do have a tendency to shove my nose into a book and not come out."

"I'll tell you everything I know. It's all Harry could talk about this summer. It's just terrible what he went through at the end of the last school year."

"Oh, yes. Wasn't it just…"

* * *

Hermione walked to her next class thinking over how odd it was that her Professor had seemed to ignore her at breakfast. All of last year, he had generally looked her way at least once each mealtime. It could have just been that he was in a bad mood. He'd been plainly furious, shooting both Harry and Ron overgenerous glares on several occasions during the meal. But it was the way that he stared down at his plate immediately afterwards, that had her perplexed.

Had she displeased him somehow? Could he be upset that she had taken lunch in The Leaky Cauldron with Aunt Alice? Surely not. How else was she expected to gather her school supplies? Was she supposed to have contacted him? Surely he had better things to do.

No, whatever reason her Professor had for suddenly ignoring her, there had to be a good explanation. One thing last year had taught her was that Professor Snape never did anything without a good reason. It was just extremely difficult to find it.

She decided she was being silly. She was fretting over her Professor in a way that made Ginny's mooning after Harry look subtle. It wasn't as if the Professor was actually her friend. He was just her teacher. Certainly, she'd felt that they'd shared a bond last year. He hadn't exactly gone out of his way to be solicitous, but to her mind, he had certainly gone farther than he had to. She wasn't blind. As far as she could see, she was the only student outside of Slytherin that showed him any respect at all, and he had seemed to take such loyalty to heart.

She realized, on her way to her first Defense Against Dark Arts class that she was making too much out of one distracted meal. She shook her head to clear it and hurried to catch the door before it closed.

She was most interested in seeing the new teacher. She had read Professor Lockhart's books from cover to cover and thought him a most impressive man. From his pictures, he certainly seemed a rather handsome man, as well. She hadn't been afforded a good look at him during the Welcoming Feast last night. He had been seated too far away, and the Ravenclaw table had blocked her view. She wondered why he was even in Ravenclaw. His series of autobiographies certainly seemed like the stuff Gryffindors were made of.

Hermione seated herself at an open seat, next to Lavender, since Padma and Parvati were sharing a table already and pulled out her books, parchment, quill and ink. She'd been hoping that the school would have instituted Professor McGonagall's changes and integrated the boys with the girls again, but apparently that was not to be this year.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the office door flew open, and Professor Gilderoy Lockhart swirled into the room.

Hermione wasn't even aware that she had stopped breathing, until Lavender quietly exclaimed, "Oh, _my!_"

Hermione sucked in a breath before replying, "Indeed."

* * *

Hermione spent the next few weeks smitten. She did her best not to make a fool of herself like the other girls who were plainly besotted by the handsome Professor, but she wasn't entirely sure of her success. After all, this was her first smit.

She'd begun to take extra time braiding and pinning her hair, which amounted to quite a lot, since it was always so unruly, and spent even more time spelling out any wrinkles in her robes and uniform. The only person who noticed was Luna Lovegood. They had taken to studying together in the library and the first-year seemed to be a touch too perceptive for Hermione's comfort level.

She sat at the Halloween Feast by herself and looked around. This was actually her first Halloween Feast and the extra pains she'd taken with her appearance hardly seemed worth it. It was a good deal more enjoyable than crying in the girls' room and nearly getting killed by a troll, but on the whole, a bit of a letdown.

Several people were missing: Ginny, Harry, Ron, Neville, even Professor Lockhart. Dumbledore twinkled merrily, while the other teachers seemed to gossip and laugh amongst themselves. Professor Snape looked as irritated as ever, his mood seemingly capable of fathoming new lows without an end in sight.

It was rather too dull. She looked again at Professor Lockhart's empty seat and decided to go for a stroll. Perhaps she could find him near his office and ask him a question or two about his books. That would be a nice thing to do. Everyone liked a chance to talk about themselves. Especially Professor Lockhart.

On the way there, she spotted Harry. She was about to call out to him, when she realized he looked to be in some distress. He looked pale and frightened, as he stared at the wall on the hallway.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

"Did you hear that?"

"No. What did I miss?"

"I heard a voice. It sounded like it was in the wall and moving very fast."

"What did it say?"

"There! That! Did you hear that?"

"No."

Hermione backed away a step as Harry darted down the hall, running his hands along the stones.

"It's going to kill someone!"

"What is? What did you hear Harry?"

She took off after him, pulling her wand out and gripping it tightly in her hand.

As they ran along, Ron and Neville came around the corner and met up with them. "There you are, Harry! Why did you run out of the deathday party so fast?"

Harry didn't stop to explain; he just kept after the mysterious voice he heard. Hermione told them what she knew in a hushed voice as the three of them hurried to keep up with Harry. Around another turn, and they were suddenly running through water.

Hermione couldn't tell where it was coming from, but the floor was covered.

"Look at the spiders!" shouted Neville.

Ron went pale, mumbling something about hating the wee beasts, as Hermione watched a long line of common house spiders making their way to the window and out through a crack in the mortar.

"Look!" shouted Harry.

They all stopped dead in the middle of the hall and looked at the writing on the wall. Large red letters, still dripping fresh, and Hermione wondered if it was paint, or blood.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Who is the heir?" asked Neville.

"Merlin! What happened to Mrs. Norris?" moaned Ron. He grabbed Harry by the back of his robes. "We have to get out of here. _Now!_"

But it was too late.

It seemed as if the entire school had suddenly descended on them. Hermione found herself surrounded by a large crowd, all reading the words and exclaiming.

Draco Malfoy pushed through the crowd and hissed, "Enemies of the heir beware!" He turned to Hermione and spat, "You'll be next, Mudblood!"

Hermione shrank back from the venom in his voice and the hatred on his face. She backed into someone and turned quickly to both apologize and flee, but found herself tangled in Professor Snape's robes.

He did something strange then. He snarled at her to get out of his way, with a face full of annoyed disgust, and he extricated her from his person with a gentle hand, guiding her behind him in a way that looked far rougher than it actually was. In fact, if one didn't look at his face and ignored his words, it would seem just as if he had _hidden _her behind him.

When she tried to explain about Harry having heard voices, she was glared into silence by both Ron and Harry. Luna reached out and pulled her by her arm, and Hermione ended up in the background.

Confused, she watched as Ron, Harry and Neville were taken away for questioning.

She stared at the words on the wall, finally beginning to understand that Harry might not be the attention-seeker she'd thought him to be. She remembered the look of terror on his face when she'd first spied him outside Lockhart's office, and it occurred to her that Harry might, in fact, be in a great deal of danger.

* * *

Hermione walked out of the Great Hall after the first meeting of the Dueling Club with two brand-new shiny bits of information whirling around in her head. First, Harry was a Parselmouth, and from the muttering and thrilled gossip, it would seem that made him an even more likely candidate to be this Heir of Slytherin McGonagall had explained about. The other fact that dazzled her was the sudden realization that Professor Snape was worth ten Lockharts any day. Her interests in Lockhart had been vanquished as thoroughly as the man himself, by her dark and dashing Professor Snape.

How could she have been so blind? How had she not seen it before? The man was an ode to grace and nobility hiding in plain sight. She turned around and looked behind her just in time to catch a glimpse of him storming out of the hall with a sneer. To the unskilled eye, he looked as dyspeptic as ever. In fact, he looked even more likely than ever to start laying about with curses, finally driven over the edge by the students around him, but to Hermione's newly opened eyes, he also looked misunderstood and lonely. It was tragic really.

Hermione had a sudden vision of an immortal doomed to earth as a punishment for some Olympic crime. What worse fate for a hidden god was there than to be locked into such a less than perfect form and driven demented by the incessant chattering of the half-formed minds of mere mortal children?

Hermione stopped and blinked, suddenly embarrassed by her own thoughts. She really didn't seem to be very good at this whole 'smitten' thing. It took up too much of her time and seemed to have her always on the verge of writing bad poetry. She thought about the little doodles of hearts and flowers she had scribbled around the name 'Gilderoy' and winced. Somehow she had the feeling that if she tried to do the same thing with 'Severus,' her hand might explode in the act.

Being thirteen seemed to be more difficult than one would have thought.

She puffed her cheeks as she blew out a breath and pushed her varying smits and unsmits from her mind. There were far more important things that needed her attention. This Heir of Slytherin and the voice Harry could hear in the walls seemed to be first and foremost.

Anyone with half a brain could see that Harry wasn't evil. Hotheaded and impulsive, yes, but a future Dark wizard? Hardly. To her mind, the most obvious choice would be that odious Malfoy boy. Who else embodied all the traits of Slytherin House so completely?

She stopped with her hand on the door of the Library, as a cold finger trailed down her spine.

Actually, there was one other person that displayed the traits of Slytherin House in a manner far more flawless than Malfoy. Professor Snape.

Now that she thought about it, he looked like an even more obvious candidate. Not that she thought he was the Heir, but it was certainly an obvious conclusion. One many people might leap to without a doubt. After all, how many of them were still convinced that he had tried to kill Harry during the first Quidditch match last year? Even after it had been clarified that Professor Quirrell was responsible, no one really wanted to pay attention to the glaring fact that Professor Snape had been trying to protect Harry. Even Harry himself downplayed his need for gratitude to the man.

Hermione snatched open the door to the library with a new sense of purpose. She needed to find out who the real culprit was before her poor, misunderstood Professor took the blame.

Oh, or Harry. Yes, mustn't forget him either.

* * *

My betas wish me to inform you that smit was not a werd even 200 years ago, and they abstain from all responsibility. I say it is _now_. *gigglesnort*


	11. Petrified

AN: Thanks to my hardworking betas, and my wonderful readers. I now present, Second Year, part II

* * *

Snape left the McKenzie's office at the cotton mill and headed out into the bitter cold of Manchester. The wisps of cotton clinging to his greatcoat were soon indistinguishable from flakes of snow, as Snape walked along the streets. He hated these streets. He hated this city. His only solace was the fact that this would be an exceedingly short holiday. With students, ghosts and cats being petrified from one end of the school to the other, it was imperative that he return as soon as possible. Now that his business was concluded, there was really no reason to loiter any longer.

He always felt out of sorts after spending time with McKenzie. They'd grown up on these streets, and they'd both managed to survive, but McKenzie's path had differed greatly to Snape's. He'd gone to work at the mill and made his way up to foreman and eventually junior management. He'd found himself a wife and settled down to a life of hard-earned respectability.

Snape had gone on to a life of self-induced calamity and indentured servitude.

They now had little in common except their childhoods, which were never a comfortable topic of discussion. However, Snape needed someone he could trust, and he knew he could trust McKenzie. He'd always had his back when they were lads, and if that wasn't enough, Snape could ruin his nice, respectable life with a word.

He thought about the third member of their youthful trio and shook his head. Black Jake had never even made a token effort to get out; instead, he was still out there somewhere, wallowing in the poverty and misery and creating even more. Snape hadn't seen him in years. McKenzie had tried with him, repeatedly offering to hire Jake at the mill, only to be bitten for his efforts. Snape didn't know why he'd even bothered. Jake was beyond help, just like so many others.

Thinking about McKenzie and Jake always made him think of Lily. She'd been the siren's call that had slowly lured him away from the street. He'd watched her for ages, fascinated by her laugh and her pretty hair. He'd followed her around spying on her and her bracket-faced sister, until his suspicions had been confirmed and he'd leaped out at her in his excitement.

He'd felt like an utter fool, of course, with his dirty face and ragamuffin clothes. She'd always been so clean, so pretty, his opposite in every possible way.

Against all hope, she'd actually become his friend. A real friend. His_ only _friend.

The only problem had been that she'd come from a good family and had only been free to play for a few hours each week. There had been so many, many other hours to fill in between, and he always ended up sinking back into the mud once she'd returned to the sanctuary of her home. When they'd received their letters, he'd thought he finally had all the time in the world to be with her…

He'd been such a naïve fool.

He sighed and felt the ever-present pain in his chest again. His memories of her were now an anvil he dragged with him everywhere. Some days he wished he could just hate her instead.

He turned onto his lane and started up the street, spotting a well-dressed, portly gentleman leaving Elspeth Spanner's door. The two men passed, utterly ignoring each other, and he was startled out of his private thoughts by a hiss.

He turned his head to see Elspeth, pale and upset, beckoning furiously to him from her partially closed door. Usually she was far more discreet, and he would have thought she'd have taken the hint when he'd begun avoiding her. But then, she'd never looked this upset before. He looked around and then frowned at her, walking over as she swung her door wide.

He stepped inside, removed his hat, and looked around the room. It was even more of a hovel than it had been last year. In the corner, he saw two sleeping babes, one a few months old, the other looked to be well over a year.

"Madam, is something the matter?"

She shut the door firmly and turned to him with tears leaking out of her eyes. "It's not the same with them," she blurted. "I feel—" Her words trailed off as she reached out and touched the buttons on his coat. She swiped at her eyes and stared up at him. "You haven't been by in a year, and I see you on the street…"

He reached up and stopped her from undoing anymore buttons. This was _not_ their arrangement. Not that they had ever formalized anything since that summer day when she'd caught his eye. She'd made for a nice tumble, and he'd been grateful for the occasional relief from the boredom of life, but now his life was not his own. He did not need any more complications when he was doing his damndest to eliminate as many as possible. Clearly, he had given her the wrong impression somewhere along the way.

"Madam, I—"

"I don't like it with them. I want _you_. I _miss _you."

_She missed him?_ No one missed him.

She tugged her hand out of his and slipped it inside his coat, sliding it down his body until she had thoroughly captured his attention and scattered his wits.

"Madam, you mustn't—" She dropped to her knees, and he grabbed her under her arm to haul her back up, but wasn't fast enough. "Elspeth, don't—_fuck!_"

He threw his head back and cracked it on the door behind him. The impact sounded abnormally loud in his ears, and they began to ring. He lost any further desire to protest. Everything that happened next was a blur, and he wasn't sure how they made it from the door to her lying stretched out on the table, with her legs locked around his waist, as he drove himself deep inside. She thrashed and moaned, pulsing around him gloriously as he emptied himself with a shout.

He was still bent over her, gasping for breath while she murmured throaty platitudes, when a silvery Patronus slipped under the door and took the form of a Phoenix. He grabbed her head and kissed her again, jamming his thumbs into her ears.

"Severus, I'm sorry but I need you to return to the school immediately. We have a situation that calls for your expertise. I do hope my message doesn't inconvenience you."

His eyes nearly crossed from the indignity of having his Headmaster address him while he still had his cock shoved inside a desperate whore. How many people would he have had to Obliviate had he still been outside?

He pulled away when the message dissipated, suddenly furious. He adjusted his clothes—he hadn't done much more than unbutton his greatcoat—and held out his still-gloved hand to help her off the table.

He dug out his wallet. "Elspeth, this isn't you. Here..." He shoved five pounds into her hand and closed it into a fist. "Take your babes and go back to your family, wherever they are. You don't belong here."

"But Henry—"

"_Leave him!_ If he gave a damn about you, he would not have brought you to this godforsaken place! He wouldn't drink all his wages, leaving you to earn your own meals on your back!" She shrunk away from him, and he softened his voice. "We all do what we must to survive, but you won't survive this life, girl. Trust me, I've seen it all before. You are not nearly hard enough."

She looked at him with shining blue eyes, and he wanted to scream at her until that needy look faded away. He wasn't her hero; he used her just like the others. Instead, he looked around until he found his hat on the floor and snatched it up. He brushed at it, calming himself.

"You have other skills. You can read and write, do needlework—" He put his hat on his head just as the shift bells for the mills rang out over the city, signaling the impending arrival of her useless scab of a husband. "I'll not come back here again. When I return in the summer, I would be pleased to hear that you had gone back to wherever you came from."

"I will do as you say," she said quietly to the floor.

He looked at her and sighed before leaving her without another word.

He walked toward his home, wondering if it was possible for his life to get any more ludicrous.

* * *

Snape stood over the hospital bed and stared down at the furry student lying before him.

"Polyjuice potion? Are you seriously expecting me to believe you were capable of brewing such a thing?"

"Well, it did go wrong, didn't it, sir?" said Mr. Weasley behind him.

"Silence!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It went _wrong_, because the effortlessly imbecilic Mr. Longbottom added the _wrong hair_. I want to know why it was brewed. I want to know where the ingredients came from, and I want to know who else besides the three of you dunderheads was _involved_."

When no answer was forthcoming, he whirled around on Potter, who couldn't keep a gnat from flying into his eye and stealing a thought. He found the missing bit of information dancing right there on the surface. He was so shocked; he couldn't speak for a full minute.

"Will you be able to help Mr. Longbottom, Professor?" asked Madam Pomfrey from the other side of the bed.

Snape bit back his rage and the sudden feeling of betrayal and replied, "Yes. But it will take me a month to do so. Such a potion takes time and skill, not unlike the one used so flippantly by our culprits." He turned to the patient and sneered. "Until then, Mr. Longbottom, enjoy your whiskers."

He turned on his heel and stormed out, buffeted by his conflicting feelings for Miss Granger. He was enraged that she had taken part in something so irresponsible, awed that she could brew such a complex potion already, and bemused at Potter's flashed image of her recent anger.

* * *

Hermione closed the tome with a thump. She knew what it was. She was absolutely certain that she knew what it was that was harming the Muggleborn students. The question was, who should she run to first? Professor Snape? Harry, Ron and Neville? After all, she had promised them she would tell them any of her findings straight away.

Mind you, the boys were being distant again. They _had_ been ever so grateful for her taking the time to brew Polyjuice potion for them, but then she'd been a bit too vocal with her anger once she had realized that they hadn't purchased the ingredients themselves but had stolen them from Professor Snape. As soon as Neville had finally recovered from turning himself half cat, she'd become _persona non grata_ again.

The effort hadn't even been worth it. All they had managed to find out was that even Draco was ignorant of any relevant information.

No, that settled it. She would go straight to Professor McGonagall. This was too big for children to deal with, and the Potions master had made it plain enough that he wasn't interested in having her bring her concerns to him anymore. Her Head of House would know just what to do.

She copied the relevant proof from the book onto a torn scrap of parchment, using _a Gemino_, and returned her books to the shelves. She packed her things, and at the last minute, she transfigured her ink bottle into a small hand mirror. Better to be cautious.

As she was heading away from the library, she saw Ginny. The younger girl had grown even more withdrawn lately. They had started the year on very friendly terms indeed, but not long after, Ginny had pulled away. Hermione winced when she saw her now. She'd promised Ron that she would look after his sister, and had obviously failed. The young witch looked pinched and haggard. Surely an unrequited crush didn't leave one looking so… lost?

Hermione quickly lifted her hand mirror and checked her own reflection. Surely, she didn't look like th—

Behind her, she saw an enormous, malignant eye, and then she knew no more.

* * *

Severus Snape looked around the infirmary at all the petrified patients in their beds waiting for the potion he was holding in his hands. He'd already tested it on the ghost and the cat, now there were only the students left.

The table next to Mr. Finch-Fletchley was covered in get-well cards and candied sweets and varying presents. A quick look about the beds showed that all the students had a similar pile except for one. That bed only had three cards, and a strange necklace made of what looked like tiny dried seedpods. An odd token of esteem.

He walked over and looked at the cards. The first was signed by Mssrs. Longbottom, Potter and Weasley. Clearly none of them had any artistic talent. The second was more elaborate and heartfelt, and was from Miss Weasley. Snape winced. That girl would need a kind and gentle touch to help her recover from her ordeal. The third was from Miss Lovegood and contained an utterly unfathomable bit of advice for avoiding Fibril Flitters, whatever they were supposed to be.

He shook his head and replaced the cards, wondering that there were no more than these few.

Apparently, Miss Granger still had few friends.

He hadn't even noticed this whole year. In fact, he hadn't really thought of her much at all, aside from his anger at what he'd thought of as a betrayal, and to be pleased her essays had improved. All in all, she had been relegated to the ash heap of extraneous concerns he'd created in his mind to protect himself against the Dark Lord's return.

He congratulated himself on a job well done. He had no idea what to expect when he ended up in front of his other master again, he would be at the total mercy of his Occlumency skills, and they had barely been up to snuff before. As much as he had thrown himself back into his mental exercises in the last year, he still couldn't be sure that his mind wouldn't shred like tissue paper under an assault. The fewer lives like Miss Granger's he had on his mind to damn him, the better.

He wondered how much longer it would be. How long would he have to wait before he was to be forced into embracing the Dark Mark again? How many more lives would he have on his conscience this time?

He wished fate would just hurry up and arrive; he had never been much of a patient man.

He took a deep breath and let it go, before turning his attention to the petrified girl on the bed. He caught sight of a scrap of paper in her hand and he pulled it out carefully.

He scowled furiously when he read it and folded it back up and shoved it in his pocket. With no further ado, he placed a few drops of the Mandrake Draught onto her forehead and watched them as they were absorbed. He stepped back just as her arms and legs relaxed and fell back to the bed. Her head lolled to the side, just before her eyes opened with a confused explosion of blinking. She turned her head and saw him and for a moment, she looked flustered, before fear flooded her features.

"It's a basilisk! Slytherin's monster! That's why Harry's been hearing it speak when no one else has!"

She sat up quickly and reached for him, repeating her warning. He took another step back quickly.

"Hush, child. We know."

"You know?"

"The basilisk has been vanquished. You and Miss Clearwater were the last victims."

"I—?" She blinked again, and lifted up a hand to rub her eyes. "How long…?"

"A month and a half. It is the thirtieth of May."

"Thirtieth of May? But…..Oh, _NO!_ Examinations start in two days!"

"Pull yourself together, girl," he snapped. "Examinations have been canceled this year."

"_Cancelled?_ What on earth for? How is that even logical? What about the N.E.W.T.s for the seventh years? How are they to find employment? This seems excessively arbitrary, sir_._"

His surprise at her priorities was probably plainly written all over his face, as she blushed scarlet.

"I had the same thoughts myself, Miss Granger. However, this would not be the first time the Headmaster has circumvented the Ministry out of whimsy, and they owe him a good deal at the moment , as you will no doubt ascertain for yourself one day."

She swung her legs off the bed and shook her head.

"It would seem that I have missed a good deal."

"Only Potter saving the day again," he said with a sneer. He watched her obvious disappointment with no small amount of confusion. "Why did you get yourself involved in their foolishness? Why did you brew the Polyjuice Potion? I was highly disappointed in you, Miss Granger."

She seemed to partially collapse. Her face fell, and she slumped over on herself until she resembled a slightly gawky prawn.

"I needed to find out who the Heir of Slytherin was. I thought they might be able to find something out, so I agreed to assist them in their endeavor."

"Why? Why wouldn't you leave such things to us?"

"Because I was afraid they would blame you," she mumbled at her knees.

"_Me?_ Why on earth would you think they would blame me?"

She lifted her head and swiped at her tears. "Because they _always_ blame you."

He was so startled by this that he couldn't compose a reply.

She darted a look at him and then looked at her feet. She let out a heavy sigh. "How strange. I thought myself so clever for having figured it all out, only to find myself utterly extraneous to events. There's a lesson to be learned."

"Miss Granger, if you are lucky in life, you will find that being extraneous to events is always to be preferred. One tends to live a longer, happier life. Now, as I have other students to see to… Off you go. As much as the school is caught up in a euphoric hysteria over Potter's latest triumph, it would be best if you spent the rest of the day quietly."

"Yes, sir."

She gathered up her things, taking a quick look at her cards, before stuffing them in her satchel, and shifting off the bed. She had not gone far before her stopped her.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Next year, let's try and not end the term in the infirmary again, shall we?"

Her eyes sparked, and she smiled with a slight blush. "I will do my utmost to comply with your wishes, Professor."

"See that you do."

He waved her off and turned to the other students, listening to her footsteps as she left.

* * *

oof.


	12. Wrong

AN: Hello, my name is Aurette, and I love a plot twist...

Also, as of this chapter, my story now has over 7,000 readers all over the world. This utterly destroys any previous record for my works and I am speachless, humbled, and tickled pink. Thank you. Sincerely.

* * *

_Mrs. Phillip Perthwit, Otterly St. Catchpole, Devon_

_Dearest Aunt Alice,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and as deeply involved in your interests as ever. I am home, as you must know, and I find myself at a loose end. The end of my school year was most strange, as I hinted at in my last letter. I apologize again, for that worrying delay in correspondence. I truly was indisposed for those six weeks._

_My parents are in excellent health, as is everyone else in the household. _

_Father is well-pleased with his apprentice, a young man by the name of Christian Townes. He seems very amiable, although I must confess, it is very strange to have him at table so much and treated as one of the family. It is as if I sprouted a brother and no one bothered to tell me. Father is always closeted with him in his office discussing journals and such._

_I'm sure mother has told you about Lady Cummings' salon? She is very excited about it. From what I have gathered, Lady Cummings is quite the intellectual. Her weekly discussion groups cover many of the latest scientific discoveries and seem to spawn a flurry of activity for much of the rest of the week, as the ladies involved prepare for the next meeting. Mother is full of activity and seems happier than when I left for school last September. I also think she may have gained a pound of two from all the tea and cake the ladies consume whilst discussing breakthroughs in modern manufacturing equipment._

_Lady Granger is also in excellent health. She enjoys her visits with her peers very much, and her dutiful visits with her granddaughter somewhat less, as always. It seems that thirteen is still not yet an acceptable age to eat at table, to her mind, so it's back to the old toys in the nursery for me._

_Cook has been committed to outdoing herself to show her appreciation for father's purchase of a new oven, and Mrs. Crabtree has a new grandson and has these two weeks off visiting her family._

_I am spending all of my time on my studies. The wind is from the north these days, so I have curtailed my daily walks due to the smell of the Thames in summer._

_I look forward to your next letter._

_Your dutiful niece,_

_Hermione_

_Southwark, London._

* * *

_Mrs. John Granger, Southwark, London_

_Dearest Helen,_

_I find myself with a sudden urge to visit Brighton. Would it be possible to steal my niece away as a companion?_

_Yrs,_

_Alice._

_Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon._

* * *

Her aunt's coach had barely rumbled out of the lane when she turned to Hermione and said, "Now that we are alone, you simply must tell me what ails you girl. I've been worried sick about you these long weeks. First, your mysterious lack of letters for six weeks, and then the nearly despondent letter I received after you'd returned home. You mustn't do such things to your poor aunt. You will age me before my time."

"I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry, and you know how circumspect I must be in letters." Hermione slipped her hand inside her aunt's larger one. "Don't fret. It really isn't as bad as all that."

"I'll stop fretting when you start talking, my dear girl."

Hermione went on to explain to her the events of the last school year, and how, even when she had allowed herself to become swept up in things, she still ended up standing on the outside looking in.

"Even when it was all over and I came back home for the summer, it all still had the feel of seemingly being behind glass. After the joy of homecoming passed, I was still infused with a profound sense of my own insignificance. Everyone had moved on with their lives without me, and I didn't seem to fit in. I cannot seem to shake the sense that no matter how clever I try to be, in the end, my actions really do not signify."

Alice squeezed her hand and patted it. "I think I'm beginning to see the problem," she said with an understanding look of sympathy.

"Do you? I must say, I feel a bit foolish. A part of me knows there are people out there with far larger problems, but I can't just will the feeling away."

"That's because you must find the root of the matter and attack it there. It does no good to treat the surface."

"What is the root of the matter?"

"Well, from where I sit, a large part of it just seems to be your age. It is very hard to see the value in one's self when you are changing so very fast. Trying to find your strengths, at this point, is like trying to hold onto a stream of water. It's too fluid.

Hermione sat back against the velvet cushion of the coach and sighed.

"I think it might be because I'm just not really any one thing or another. I'm neither child, nor adult, neither Muggle, nor witch. I lack direction. Purpose. My magic sets me apart from my own family, and yet my nature seems to set me apart from magic folk. I don't belong. I don't fit in anywhere."

Alice smiled, and quipped, "It seems to me that you fit into my coach just fine, Hermione. Let's keep sight of our positives, shall we? We have three weeks to play in Brighton. While we are there, we shall either find your strengths, or learn how to fake them well enough to blend in anywhere."

* * *

"Flutter, dear! You _must_ flutter better than that. See? It's all in the wrist!" Alice wielded her fan with gusto, causing Hermione to fall into a fit of giggles. "I cannot teach you the language of the fan, until you learn the rudiments."

"This is absurd! I look ridiculous! And so do you, by the way."

Alice snapped her fan shut and thwapped Hermione on the shoulder in one fluid motion.

"Wretched child!" she said with a laugh. "I'll have you know this is an art! And in our case, it is subterfuge. I cannot express the delights of playing the simpering maid just to set up the scathing retort. It is far better to have people underestimate us than the other way around. Now," she snapped her fan open commandingly, "again, and do try not to hit yourself on the nose this time."

* * *

Brighton was delightful. In the evenings, they went to small parties thrown by people they had just met, and during the day they took in the sights. They toured the Royal Pavilion, which was less grand for being under construction again. They strolled the beaches and painted the sea. They ate ices and heard orchestras and giggled behind their fans at the antics of the town. They chased moths and butterflies and caught crickets and beetles. And when it rained, they spent hours in the lending library or in tea shops. Alice hired a private dance instructor with a terribly false French accent, and Hermione finally learned to dance, at least well enough to justify her aunt's expense. Mr. Michaud even took delight in teaching her the _forbidden_ dance… the waltz.

The two women strolled along in their best frocks, with their fans languidly cooling their upturned faces, mimicking the walks of the noble ladies strolling a few paces ahead. Alice had decided that their mission this trip was to embrace the Muggle wholeheartedly. She had vowed that by the end of their time, Hermione would be able to pass herself off in the highest of company, so that even if she felt like she didn't fit in, she could if she actually needed to.

Hermione had thrown herself into the ruse with relish.

"We will be leaving in a few days, dear," said Alice as they strolled back to their rooms. "I think it is time for the final test. The _pièce de résistance. _We have nothing left to perfect but the Granger Glower."

Hermione broke into a peal of laughter. "We mustn't, Aunt. I would hold you responsible if I were to start laughing in grandmother's face."

"No. I fear we must. In fact, I think it quite mandatory…" Alice's words trailed away as a small frown creased her brow. "Hermione, isn't that your housekeeper?"

Hermione spun around and looked toward the house Alice had let for the length of their stay. A sense of impending doom washed over her and she broke into a run, moaning, "Oh, no!"

Mrs. Crabtree was looking down the avenue in the opposite direction, standing on the front steps, wringing her hands. She turned her head and saw Hermione and her face crumpled up, as she dashed down the stairs with her arms open. She swept Hermione into her arms and hugged her close.

"Oh, Miss Hermione! Mrs. Perthwit! It's terrible! Something awful has happened, and you must come home right away!"

* * *

It took an inordinate amount of time for Snape to realize just what was wrong, as he looked out at the sea of faces all waiting for the first-year students to be escorted in. He blamed it on being distracted by Lupin. Every time he looked at the cretin, he felt a desperate need to hex something. When he finally understood what his unconscious mind was aware of, he left his seat and walked over to Dumbledore

"Headmaster, it would seem that we are missing a student. Do you want me to go in search?"

"Everyone has been accounted for, I believe."

Snape looked over at the Gryffindor table and could plainly see the looks of confusion and whispered mutterings between Potter and the various Weasleys.

"Sir, Miss Granger is not here."

"Miss Granger is no longer our student, Severus. Everyone who needs to be is already here."

At this point, he should have gone back to his seat and waited for the doors of the Great Hall to open. Instead, he found himself blurting, "But why?"

Dumbledore gave him a look of sadness. "Miss Granger has lost her parents. She has not been allowed to attend school this year. I fear, unless her guardian has a change of heart, we have seen the last of our Miss Granger."

Severus stood straight and walked back to his seat. He surprised himself by walking past it and slipping out the door behind.

Once outside, he walked swiftly around and back into the castle, hurrying down to his office and snatching open the file drawer marked 'student records.'

* * *

The sun was sinking fast as he rapped on the door with his cane.

It was pulled open by a young girl he didn't recognize.

"Can I 'elp you, sir?"

"I'm looking for Miss Hermione Granger," he said with a scowl.

"'Er? She's not 'ere. She moved on to live wif some family when 'er parents died. This 'ere's Mr. Townes' residence now. Sorry."

The door was closed in his face.

* * *

"Madam, you have a visitor. One Severus Snape."

Alice looked up from where she had been reading by the fire.

"I know that name. Send him in, Mrs. Crabtree. Please. Oh, and some tea, if you would."

Alice stood up and smoothed down the skirts of her black, bombazine gown. She folded her hands together in front of her and tilted her chin up as she heard the sound of boots in the vestibule.

A tall man, with sallow skin and a pinched face, dominated by a large, hawk nose, entered, and it took her a minute to recognize him with his well-cut coat, expertly tied cravat, and high, polished boots.

"Mr. Snape. I thought it might have been the same man. Welcome."

"Madam." He bowed his head gracefully, and she was reminded of Hermione's defense of his manners. Apparently he did, indeed, have them when he chose.

"Would you care to sit?" she asked, gesturing to the settee as she resumed her seat by the fire.

He declined.

"I'm afraid I have little time. My apologies for both the lateness and lack of notice for my visit. However, it has only just come to my attention that your niece is not attending school this term. I cannot stress to you enough how important it is that she should continue her studies."

"I'm afraid there is nothing I can do."

"Mrs. Perthwit," he said with a magnificent scowl, pointing to Hermione's copy of _The History of Magic_, that Alice had been reading a moment ago. "I don't believe I am mistaken in thinking you understand the nature of Miss Granger's gifts."

"I do, indeed. I am the only one she ever confided in."

"It is imperative for the child's welfare that she learn to control these gifts and utilize them to her fullest ability."

"She's highly gifted in this area, is she not? Or do you take such exception with all of your students?"

He looked nonplussed and offended by her question, but why exactly that was, was not so clear.

"Miss Granger has the potential for greatness," he said as if chewing glass.

Alice sighed. "I thought as much. The women of my family are– _were_ always capable of greatness. Unfortunately, it doesn't change the facts. I can do nothing. Hermione's parents were involved in a carriage accident. Her father died straightaway. Her mother, my sister… _lingered_. She'd broken her neck. Death was merciful, but Hermione surely doesn't see it that way. My foolish brother-in-law left instructions for just such an eventuality in his will. Hermione is now living with her grandmother, Lady Granger. She is miserable and heartsick, and if that old fraud has her way, Hermione is doomed. I fear she will never set foot in your world again."

They both fell silent as Mrs. Crabtree came in with the tea tray. The man declined a cup politely whilst looking thunderous.

"Mr. Snape... _Professor_… I know that minds were tampered with to explain away Hermione's teeth after her first year." Alice swallowed with difficulty. "Do you think there is a way—"

"No," he said flatly. "Appealing to your understanding was my only recourse. Miss Granger's previous situation was justified under our Secrecy Laws. This situation is different. The guardian must relent. In recent years, we took a magical child away from their Muggle guardian against their wishes, and it caused... issues. The laws have changed due to that. We can lie about the nature of our school, but we cannot run about the country snatching children from their rightful homes."

"That is _not_ her rightful home," hissed Alice. "She belongs with me! I fought it. I'm still fighting it. I've won the right for her to stay with me for one month out of a year. I managed to save all of her school things from being sold or thrown away on the rubbish fire. I even have her wand. She was so distraught after the accident that she set it aside and forgot about it. I'm taking Lady Granger to court again in three months time to sue for custody, but I must admit that even my solicitors feel it is a foolish waste of funds. I don't really have a hope."

"Then neither does Miss Granger," the professor intoned.

"Is there nothing you can do? My niece speaks very highly of you."

He looked at her with a curious expression, before his face shuttered completely.

"No. My hands are tied. I have met Lady Granger, and without the use of my powers, I cannot hope to persuade her. When Miss Granger comes of age at seventeen, she will be able to find her way back to our community. I am exceedingly sorry for this unfortunate situation, but there is nothing I can actually do about it."

He grimaced and dragged his hand through his over-long hair.

She felt his frustration keenly.

"I must return to the school," he said. He nodded his head to her and turned toward the door.

Alice rose and followed him out to the foyer, where he picked up his hat and gloves and pulled his walking stick from the stand.

"I am very sorry for the loss of your sister and her husband, Mrs. Perthwit. And I apologize for taking up your time."

"I do so thank you for showing me that there are people in your world who actually care, Professor. My niece was no happier being a witch than she is now being a Muggle. I admit it was hard for me to desire something that I knew would make her feel worthless again."

He clenched his jaw, causing his cheek to jump, and placed his hat on his head. "One doesn't need magic to be made to feel worthless, Mrs. Perthwit. Good evening."

He strode out the door, and she slipped out after him, hiding in the shadow of the front steps, in her mourning gown. She watched him as he strode across the park toward the chestnut trees, gripping his gloves and cane as if ready for battle. As soon as he slipped into shadow, he twisted halfway around, coattails swirling, and disappeared.

Alice sighed and walked slowly back inside.

* * *

Snape sat in his rooms sipping Firewhiskey and staring at the flames.

He felt his wards shimmer and then the door opened.

The Headmaster entered the ascetic monk's cell of a room, and Snape set his drink down and stood up, since there was no other chair to offer.

"I take it your mission was a failure?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"You knew it would be."

"That doesn't mean I had left off all hope. You can do wonders when you have the bit between your teeth."

"I could do more if I was _allowed_."

"Severus—"

"How can you let him teach? You know what he is!"

"I have my reasons."

"Black is _on the loose_, Albus. This is not the time to be playing games with children's _lives_. A werewolf within the school? A murderous maniac without? Just what are you playing at?"

"If the danger were so great, why did you try to bring a Muggleborn student back to the school?"

Snape scowled and snatched up his drink.

"Because it's _wrong!_ Everything about this feels wrong!" He restrained his temper and swallowed the rest of the spirits. "I cannot abide waste. Miss Granger not fulfilling her potential is a foolish waste of resources. She could even have been an asset to you in the coming struggle. No one else knew it was a basilisk last year! She had the answer in her _hand_, Albus, and no one even cared enough to_ look_ until it was over and I went to heal her!"

"Including you."

"I wasn't _supposed_ to care! I'm the designated villain, remember?"

"I remember, Severus. The question is, _do you_?"

The Headmaster let the question hang in the air before he took his leave silently, leaving Snape staring at the place he had occupied with a frozen snarl of impotent rage on his face.

After the door closed behind the old man, Snape whirled around and flung his glass into the fire.

* * *

"Come child. Let me have a look at you." Lady Granger stood in the foyer in her elaborate black mourning gown. Her hair was covered by a black, straw bonnet, with a wide brim, perched atop a black lace cap, with the whole covered by a black lace veil. She adjusted the black, fringed shawl on her arms before looking at her granddaughter.

Hermione got the impression that Lady Granger had been waiting eagerly to don her tragic finery, ever since she'd reluctantly ended mourning for her husband, because three years of mourning was a bit excessive in anyone's circles. It was as if the six years since had been erased and she was in her glory again.

Lady Granger's beady eye took in Hermione in her own black muslin gown, gloves and bonnet, the result of a fast dip in a dye vat, rather than purchased new. Underneath, Hermione's skin had taken on a purple tinge that she feared might be permanent.

She had undergone a painful hour of having her hair ironed and pulled into the three tight knots. Two smaller by her ears, and one large and plain, set low on her head. There was enough oil in her hair to keep it waterproof for the next week, when she would have to repeat the process.

Hermione was of the firm opinion that her grandmother's lady's maid was evil.

"You'll pass muster, child. Mind that you don't start weeping in church again. One mustn't look vulgar in mourning. Emotional displays are for the lower classes. Mind your manners, and do not speak unless spoken to, and even then, keep it to a simple sentence. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Grandmother."

Hermione carefully put her bonnet on and tied the black ribbon under her chin.

Her grandmother gave a sniff and turned toward the door as Charles opened it.

"I cannot make a lady of you; you're too willful and spoiled for that. However, I will make you respectable, if I have to break you to do it child. You'd do well to mind my words, girl. Your parents didn't leave you naught. You'll have to make your own way in this world, and you should listen to advice where offered. I've got more worthy grandchildren to think about in the hereafter."

"Yes, Grandmother."

* * *

*looks around*

*runs*


	13. Burdened

**AN:** This chapter is dedicated to three lovely authors and friends who have only recently decided to dive into the world of SS/HG fanfic: **Ardastra**, **sfiddy**, and **Teddy Radiator**, And they say our favorite ship is sinking. Ha! These ladies are proof it is not.

* * *

Snape waited until the last Thestral carriage was out of sight and then took off down the lane after them. He had all of his marking done, had restocked the supply cupboard, and had already had his final meeting with the Headmaster for the term. There was no reason for him to stay, and he would be damned if he spent another five minutes in the castle with the werewolf and that petulant brat.

He looked up at the patrolling Dementors and shuddered, as he slogged through the snow towards the gate. If they'd kissed Black when they'd had the chance, they wouldn't have to partake in this ridiculous farce of a manhunt. Pulling his valise out of his pocket and unshrinking it, he Transfigured his robes back into the Muggle clothing he'd donned that morning. He opened his valise and pulled out his John Bull and enlarged that as well, popping it on his head to complete the look. The Muggle ensemble did nothing to lessen the billow; his unbuttoned greatcoat served just as well, with its doubled capes flaring out behind him.

By the time he'd passed by the Aurors at the gates, he looked like just another Muggle gentleman stamping through the December snow. The Aurors gave him strange looks indeed.

As soon as he could, he spun into a turn and Disapparated away.

He finished his spin under the canal bridge and coughed from the sudden stench. Even in winter, Manchester rarely failed to offend his nose upon arrival. He stomped through the muddy slush into the alley and through to his own lane. No one was about on this bitter day, so he made it to his home without incident at all.

He pushed open the front door and peered into the darkened sitting room. He dropped his hat on the table by the door and pulled off his gloves one at a time. Leaving his coat behind on a peg, he walked into the kitchen.

"I see yer back again. Always back again."

"Where's mother?"

"She's upstairs. Took t'her bed a week ago. Brought us a present, have yeh?"

"How bad is she this time?"

Tobias Snape shocked his son by his sudden struggle with tears.

"It looks bad, son. I been all about making soup for her, an' everything. She just stares out the window, like she don't even care. It's not the cough this time, but I just know it's something bad."

Severus opened his valise and pulled out the bottle of rum he'd brought his father.

"There's a lad. Yer a good boy, Sev. I always said as much."

Snape turned away from his father but was stopped by a pleading voice.

"Ye' can fix her, can't yeh? With your witchy brews?"

Severus was stunned. It was the first time ever that his father asked him to use his magic. "I will see what I can do," he replied, as he headed for the stairs.

Severus pushed open the door to his parents' room with a knock. He knew his mother would be decent. She always was.

"Mama?" he called softly into the darkness.

"No need to tiptoe. I heard you blowing in like the wind, slamming doors and stomping up the stairs. What do you want?"

"I came to see how you were. Your man says you've been in here for a week."

"I'm fine, no thanks to you."

Severus struggled to stay calm. "I'm here now. I've brought potions—"

"There's nothing in that bag that will cure what ails me. Not when the problem is a sick heart."

He walked closer and looked down at the pale-faced woman on the bed. Her black, glittering eyes were full of anger.

"What are you talking about?"

She raised a hand and jabbed a long, bony, finger at him.

"I'm talking about you! I'm talking about what a disappointment you are! I'm talking about how much you've disgraced me! After everything I went through! After all I sacrificed for you!"

Severus stepped away from the bed and snatched the dusty window curtain open so he could see better. His mother, never a beauty, nonetheless didn't look a day over forty. Her glossy black hair was braided down one shoulder, and she was bundled up in an oversized, high-necked flannel gown.

"Do you want to tell me what the hell you are talking about? Or do we play guessing games?" he snarled.

"I'm talking about Elspeth Spanner! I'm talking about the black-haired girl-child that her husband beat her bloody over, before he took himself off to be killed over the bloody corn laws! Do you really think I could have forgotten what you looked like as a babe? Do you really think I could ever forget the moment when the midwife handed me the squalling noose that would hang around my neck for the rest of my life and damn me to a life of misery!"

Severus's entire body had gone bloodless. He sat down heavily on a stool and stared out the window.

"I saw her two weeks ago. Toby and I went to pay our respects to that ox of a husband she had when they laid him out. I saw the babe, though she tried to hide it from all the people at the wake. I saw it Severus. And when I looked into her face, I knew.

"How could you have been so stupid? Sure, at least she was a married woman, and not a fifteen year old girl, but did you really think no one would see the difference? Were you really so callous that it didn't matter to you that the neighborhood rang out with her cries? He beat her, Severus! With the babe only hours old!"

His voice sounded hollow and reedy when he spoke. "Lots of babes have black hair when their born… It falls out…"

"Severus, the babe can't be denied. She looks like _you_. The whole neighborhood knows." Eileen Snape pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Why would you do that to her? You knew she was quality fallen on hard times. If you had to dip your wick, why not a charm or a spell? Why not one of your bloody potions! After everything you and I went through with that man downstairs, why would you do that to someone else's mother?"

He opened his mouth but closed it again, remembering the frantic farce of their last encounter. What could he say that didn't sound pathetic? I forgot? I didn't intend to? She clouded my mind when she told me she needed me? The headmaster's Patronus distracted me? It was such a stupid mistake to have made, he'd always been so careful for this exact reason.

He felt like an errant school boy again, and it made him burn.

"Spanner's dead you say?"

"Aye. Half the men in the lane are dead after the riots. From the look of things, Elspeth and her babes aren't far behind."

His head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

"She was coughing something awful at the wake, and now that bastard's gone and left her with nothing. She can't work at the mill, not with the little ones. She's done for, Severus, and you're the one that done her."

He stood up and snatched up the valise.

"Get out of bed, woman. Stop playing your husband for a fool," he snapped.

Snape hurried to his room and tossed his bag down on the floor next to the bed. A few quick spells and he turned and nearly leapt down the stairs and over to the front door. He stopped and threw on his coat, leaving his hat and gloves behind. He whipped open the door and headed out into the damp December air.

It was only a short walk down a few doors that brought him to her door. He pounded on it, the cold stinging his hand.

He was about to shove on the door when it opened from the inside. There he found Simon, the sweep. The boy's eyes widened when he saw him.

"She said you'd come. She said it every day like a prayer. And every day I said, 'o'course he will.'"

"Let me in, boy!" Snape hissed.

The door was pulled wider, and Severus stepped inside and was met by the fetid stink of sickness and unwashed diapers. He looked over to the bed and saw Elspeth thrashing under the quilt. It was as cold as a tomb inside the home, but she was glazed with sweat.

"What are you doing here," he asked, as he walked over to the simple bassinet and tugged down the blanket.

"She needed help, and I needed someplace warm."

"This is warm?" he spat, looking down at his daughter and her older brother wrapped around each other.

"It's warmer than out there."

The baby girl stared up at him with eyes just starting to turn dark. Her tiny, narrow face told the whole sordid tale. He tucked the blanket around her again.

"Where's the older child?"

"She lost him last winter. He took sick just after the New Year."

Severus looked around at the squalid home and muttered, "Why was she still here?"

"She tried to leave. When her boy died, she took Nigel and ran for it. Spanner found her and dragged her back home. The neighborhood was crawling with the gossip. Everyone knew she was too good for him."

Snape looked down at the street urchin.

"Where are your people?"

"Da died in the riot. Mam died last spring. Mary's gone to the mill, since it's too cold to work the street."

Severus frowned at the simple recitation of a common tragedy, and turned back to the two babes staring up at him. "Why don't they cry?"

"There's no reason. Her milk's all dried up. Young'uns know when there's just no use. I've been doing the best I could, fer 'em. I been feeding 'em all some'at."

Snape glanced into Simon's guilty eyes and could easily see what he had done to get the food.

"You did well, boy."

Simon sagged and pulled his cap further down on his head to try and hide his expression of relief.

Severus ran a finger down his daughter's cheek, marveling at how soft it was. He touched the little boy and realized the babe was burning up with fever. He grabbed up Elspeth's discarded apron and tucked it around the two infants.

"Simon, take them to my house. Tell my parents you are to take them to my room. Then come straight back. I'll need you to grab whatever is in here that she might care about."

"Yessir, Mr. Snape. I knew you wouldn't let them die cold."

"I'm not going to let them die at all."

"Yer a good man, Mr. Snape."

"Hurry, boy."

Snape turned to the bed when Simon picked up the crudely-built bassinette and headed out the door.

He looked down on Elspeth, of the powder blue eyes and wheat-colored hair. Elspeth, who was well-spoken and gentle-born, despite her course life. She'd never meant anything to him. He wasn't capable of being so foolish as to let her. But there had been moments…

Now she was a burden. A weight. A potential death sentence in the coming conflict if the Dark Lord ever suspected her existence and that of his child.

He wrapped her tightly in the quilts and scooped her up in his arms. She stirred and opened an eye.

"I knew you'd come," she whispered.

He scowled and swept her out the door.

"And I'm telling ya, me laddo, this is still my house and I'm the man of it! I'll not have me house cluttered up with yer bastards! Spanner was a good man, and yeh fucked his wife in his own bed. I should tear yer head off!"

Severus ignored his father as he drank his tea.

"I'll not have em 'ere, boy! D'yeh hear? I'll turn the whore out, and her pups too!"

Severus slammed down his cup and stood up, leaning heavily on the table until he was staring in his father's eye.

"Touch any of them, and I will kill you."

Tobias wasn't cowed. Nothing cowed the man. Even as frail as he was now, after years of sucking in cotton fluff at the mill, Severus knew there was just as good a chance he would come up swinging as not.

"So that's the way of it, is it?" Tobias said with a sneer. "How are yeh expectin t'feed them all from Scotland then, eh? Two babes and a sick girl? Just who's gonna look after them when yer gone?"

"Give me a day, and they won't be your problem anymore."

"Oh, yer going t'make everything all right with magic, then, are yeh? You can't conjure food, boy. I knows t'rules."

"I have the money."

"Setting them up in their own place is gonna cost yeh, too."

"I have the money."

"And they'll be needing clothes and shoes…"

Severus slammed his hand down on the table. "I have the fucking _money!_ Between my job and my investments, I've _always_ had the fucking money! Who the hell do you think has been feeding you these last years? There _is _no fucking foreman's pension! I worked it out with McKenzie four years ago when you became too sick to work! You have _nothing_! I've been paying for _everything_, old man! So unless you want to starve to death, you will put up with whomever I bring to this house for as long as it takes me to settle them elsewhere!"

Tobias Snape sat back in his chair, opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish.

"You'd never let your mother starve" he said in a hoarse whisper. "You always was a nancy boy."

"Don't push your luck on that score," Snape replied.

His father's eyes widened, finally responding to whatever it was he saw in his son's eyes.

Severus turned away from the table and headed upstairs.

Once in his rooms, he looked around at all the bodies.

Never a large room to begin with, it was now filled beyond capacity with Elspeth sleeping quietly on the small bed, Simon asleep on a conjured pallet on the floor with his arm around little Nigel, whose small hand gripped tightly to Simon's threadbare coat. His three-month-old daughter was wrapped up warm and tight in his mother's lap, where she sat at his desk.

"You did a cruel thing to your father just now."

"Madam, now is not the time to ask for sympathy for him. "

"Big man, big words. You wait until this lot tear your heart out and suck you down into poverty. We'll see who's crying then."

"I have no sympathy for you, either. You had options. This was your choice. I will never be poor again."

"Sure, I had choices in the beginning, but then he took my wand. What is a witch without her wand?"

"An idiot who could have gone to get another one."

"Oh… la di da. You always have all the answers, don't you,_ Professor_. It doesn't take long, son, once the spirit has gone out of you, to become a squib."

Severus blinked and turned to his mother.

"What are you saying?"

"You always needed something to be in contempt of. You never even bothered to see what was right in front of your eyes. I did the best I could for you, boy. I did my duty. But my magic was gone long before you even went off to school. You read all my books, and absorbed all my knowledge, and went off with your head in the clouds, never even really questioning why you never saw me use magic. You just judged me, and don't think I didn't know it."

"Not being allowed to use your magic doesn't turn you into a squib!"

"It does if the shock is bad enough. It does if the heart is in enough pain."

"How long? How long did it take?"

"You were three the last time I could work a wandless spell, Severus."

He stared at her as she rocked the infant, not knowing what to say or how to respond. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that it was one elaborate deceit. She'd played him for a fool before.

He turned away from her and made his way carefully about the room, feeling foreheads and taking pulses.

He turned back to his mother and waved at the potion bottles on the desk.

"I'm going out. Take care of them until I return."

His mother held up his daughter, turning her pinched little face toward him. "Elspeth said she'd been waiting for you to name this one. What do you want to call her?"

"I don't give a damn what anyone calls her," he snarled, as he walked out the door.

* * *

The land agent put quill to ink and began to write up the proper documents. All that was needed on the two copies were dates and signatures.

"And how long would your family like to lease the place for, Mr. Snape?"

Snape looked around the large cottage, nestled in the heart of Cheshire. The middle of nowhere, really. The last place anyone would look. He turned his glittering black gaze on the land agent and replied, "Let's start with one year, with an option for a longer stay if it suits."

"Fine, however, I will inform you that rents might need to be renegotiated at that time. I am not empowered to make any promises for the future. Shall I make out the contracts for the cook, maid and housekeeper you interviewed? Did you want them for a year as well?"

"If you would."

"Not a problem, just sign your name right here…"

* * *

The parson couldn't shake feeling more than a little confused as he began the ceremony. He stumbled once or twice over the words, intimidated by the groom's furious stare. He took extra pains to hesitate as he asked if there was any reason why the couple shouldn't wed, but no one came forth, and after all, the bans had been posted, hadn't they?

The bride, dressed in an ill-fitting gown that was somebody's former best thirty years ago or more, blushed and smiled, as she said, "I do."

The groom looked far less sanguine, but his avowal was strong and clear, nonetheless.

He watched as the bridal party trooped out of the church, where the newlyweds piled into a coach, along with a street urchin and two babies. The coach took off; leaving the odd couple that had acted as witnesses behind without a word.

* * *

Severus Snape woke up, stiff and sore from another night spent sleeping in the chair by the fire in the study. He heard the scrape and rattle of the breakfast being made in the kitchens.

He stood and stretched, before heading into the bedroom and over to his wardrobe. He took out a change of clothes and stepped behind the screen to where the wash stand was. He stripped out of his clothes and splashed himself with the frigid water, before mopping himself with his old shirt and dressing again.

"Severus," Elspeth said from the bed, in a shy voice.

He could hear the baby snuffling and slurping.

"What."

"You know you don't have to sleep in your study. I really do feel quite recovered. The medicine you gave me worked wonders. It even restored my milk."

He turned his head over his shoulder and stared at her over the hinge in the folding screen, as he slipped into a fresh waistcoat and fussed with his cravat.

"What I mean to say is—"

"I know what you mean to say, Elspeth," he said, shrugging into his coat and stepping out from behind the screen. "And I will repeat what I said, just this once. You have a fine house. You have plenty of food. You need never go hungry or be cold again. I gave you what you needed when you needed it. That is all you will get from me. That's all I am capable of giving."

His new wife looked at him with teary eyes.

"That's not true. I know you have more to give."

He sighed, and softened his expression.

"I _cannot_ give you any more."

She nodded, accepting his truth with her strange practicality.

"You are going back to your school today?"

"I must."

"Will you write to me?"

"No."

"Am I to be a secret shame then?"

"Not shame, no. But I have enemies, Elspeth. I told you this. You do not know me. You would have been better off never having met me."

"Never! I can accept these limitations you put on things, Severus, but no matter what sort of trouble you're in, never say that I was better off before. If you want nothing more from me, fine, but you have my eternal blessing and gratitude all the same. I just want you to know that I will be a good wife to you. Regardless of my past."

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, as he watched her shift the baby to the other breast.

"I do not judge you, Elspeth."

She pressed her lips together tightly and blinked several times, nodding her head to express what she couldn't say, and he didn't want to hear.

"Can I write to my parents?" she asked, when she had recovered herself. "Can I at least tell them I am not what I once was?"

"If that would bring you pleasure. Tell them what you will, but do not tell them our true name. You may even receive them here if you wish. Just do not connect yourself in any way to who I really am. And you must not write to me. There is a letter posted to my school in my own hand on top of my desk. If there is an emergency—and let us not quibble about the nature of what I deem life-threatening—post the letter. I will come straight away."

"I understand."

He pulled his bag out of the bottom of the wardrobe and started to pack.

"In the drawer of my desk is twenty pounds, for unexpected expenses. Use it wisely. I've set up accounts with the butcher, the grocer and the draper. Get yourselves properly clothed, and get Simon some decent shoes. The bills will be settled by my man, so you needn't worry."

He closed the bag and turned to leave.

"Severus? Won't you name her? Please?"

He grimaced and then turned around. When he saw the look of desperate pleading on the woman's face, he bowed his head and placed his bag on a stool. He went over to the bed and leaned over to stroke the top of his daughter's head where she suckled at her mother's breast. Her fine black hair was shockingly soft.

"Grace. Let her be called Grace."

"Grace. That's a lovely name."

He backed away from the bed and snatched up his valise.

"I shall return in the spring."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Professor Snape entered the castle and snarled malignantly at the first student he saw.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore's voice rang out in the hallway.

Snape stopped and turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"How was your holiday, Professor?"

"Uneventful, Headmaster."

"I'm sure you appreciated the respite from drama then."

"To be sure."

"Then I can count on you to be refreshed and ready for your duties," he said, with a significant look.

"As always, Headmaster." Snape nodded his head to him and spun away toward his dungeon.

* * *

*insert evil cackle here*


	14. Honorable

**AN:** Twistier and twistier it gets...

* * *

Hermione closed the book that she had pilfered from the library and set it back under the pillow. It was only _The_ _History of the French Kings_ and nothing to be ashamed of, but her grandmother thought reading bred ill thoughts in young girls, and after catching her too often skulking in the library, she'd forbidden her from reading at all.

She walked over to her dressing table and checked her appearance in the looking glass. She'd had a bit of a growth spurt, and her linen gown strained against her fourteen-year-old bosom, having been sewn for a thirteen-year-old girl. She fixed her lace collar, trying to cover as much as she could, and then threw her shawl over everything when that didn't suit.

She'd had to tear off a flounce from her third best dress and sew it onto the bottom of this one, and the two blacks didn't really mix well at all.

She tried to think of a way to improve things but gave it up as a bad job and headed down to join the family for dinner.

It was her grandmother's sixtieth birthday, and all of the children and grandchildren had come to pay court to the queen of self-importance. Hermione had been moved up into the attic, as her own room was needed for the children of sons who _hadn't_ gone into a trade and disgraced the family.

She rolled her eyes at the thought.

Hermione's three uncles had all managed to marry younger versions of their mother. How her father had ever come from this stock boggled the mind.

Between them, they had eight children ranging in age from seventeen-year-old Andrew Granger III, to five-year-old Honoria.

She'd always remembered Andrew as a bit of a milksop, but she had found him rather agreeable when he had arrived two days ago. He was still over-soft and weak-chinned, but it seemed their time apart had improved him. He had been attentive and amusingly witty. The same could not be said for his sister, Veronica. She had been a pasty-faced little whiner two years ago, and now she was a pale termagant-in-training. She'd had a twin sister, Amber, who had died of a fever at seven, and the surviving twin had been treated like a glass flower ever afterwards.

Hermione entered into the drawing room and immediately found a chair and sat. If she could get through the hour before dinner without attracting any notice at all, life would be blessed indeed.

"Mother, isn't Hermione's dress shocking ugly?" Veronica said to the room at-large when her mother was sitting right next to her. "I saw her wear that when we arrived and could scarcely believe it." The gathered cousins all broke into tittering laughter, but the parents looked aghast at such bad form.

"Hush, Veronica," snapped Uncle Andrew. "She's in mourning for her parents. Fashion is the least of her concerns and rightly so."

Hermione bestowed a grateful smile on her oldest uncle but it withered and died as he continued his thought.

"I imagine her mind is rather more occupied with thoughts of whether or not her parents are in heaven with the angels, or screaming in the burning pits." He turned to her. "Do you know, dear, if your parents had been able to pray before they met their end?" He turned to his stunned audience. "Sincere prayer will always make a difference. Even right at the very end."

Hermione felt her face begin to turn red. The rushing of hot blood made it feel as if it was swelling. "I know that my father's last words were apparently an entreaty to God, sir." _'God in heaven, look out!'_ "And my mother prayed fervently before her end came." '_Let me just die. Please, God, I cannot live this way without my John!'_ "So it is my belief that they are in heaven."

Uncle Andrew nodded his head in approval. "I'm sure they are. I have to admit, I always did worry for John, what with his odd ways and his desire to take up a profession. I always feared that was a sign of a weak nature. I'm glad to hear he turned to the Lord in the end."

"As you say, sir."

"Andrew," her grandmother intoned in her most dreaded tone. "I will thank you to keep your interest in these new Evangelical preachers at home, where it is proper. Honestly, it's not even Sunday. If you wanted to spoil our appetites for dinner, I congratulate you on the thoroughness with which you have completed your task."

Uncle Andrew opened his mouth to reply, but Uncle Robert's wife, Justine, blurted, "Are you going to be observing a full year of mourning, child? Or will you accede to the more acceptable six months?"

Justine was the daughter of a Baron, and thus, considered herself far above grandmother and would use any excuse to throw her knowledge of what was considered proper in society in the old woman's face.

Hermione was no fool. She immediately dove into the fray, and if she could gain some favor, so be it.

"I will defer to Grandmother's opinions in these things. I will need new clothes soon and shall let her dictate the style and colors, as is right."

Hermione dropped her head down to her folded hands, hoping to look properly meek and submissive.

She gave a darting look at her grandmother but received the Granger Glower for her pains. She sighed. Not subtle enough. Perhaps it might have worked if she had not already asked for new clothes and been denied.

Charles came to the doorway and announced dinner, moving the impending symphony of scowls to the dining room. Her grandmother reached out a hand and pulled her back, before they had gained the doorway.

"You think you are clever, don't you? You cannot shame me into wasting my money frivolously!" she snapped.

"I will shame you far more when my bosom falls out of my dress with the next breath!" Hermione hissed back.

Her grandmother went quite red in the face before she spat, "Perhaps if you didn't eat so much, you wouldn't grow quite so fast! Go to your room! There will be no dinner for you tonight, you ungrateful child!"

Hermione opened her mouth to let the nasty woman know what she could do with her food, but was undone by the angry tears that sprang into her eyes, making her look weak. She fled up the stairs before she could lose face even more.

She wanted to hex the lot of them but then quickly pushed the thought away. Simply thinking of magic hurt too much to be borne. She couldn't perform a single spell until she came of age, and there was nothing for it but to endure.

Alice had all of her things, including her wand. At least she hoped she did. She hadn't heard from her mother's sister since she'd been shut away in this tomb. She could only assume that the letters she left by the door to be posted were being similarly interrupted. Grandmother wouldn't allow mention of Alice, and Hermione was vaguely aware that violent words had been exchanged by the two women, as she'd cried at her mother's bedside that last time.

The following months had been spent in a perpetual fog of grief. The unending shock freshened with every morning she woke up in this house. She dreamed of running away, but the only place she had to go was Otterwold, and that would be the first place anyone would look. She thought about Pearheath, where she had grown up, but it had turned into a hazy dream without detail. She wasn't even sure how to find it, and utterly sure there was no one there that would take her in.

In the loneliness of the night, she dreamed of running away to Scotland—simply turning up at the school—but she remembered the confrontation between her grandmother and the Headmaster when he had arrived to try and change her grandmother's mind about her schooling. She had walked him to the door and quietly begged him to take her with him, but he had merely patted her on the shoulder and told her to be strong.

She also thought about trying to make her way to Spinner's End in Manchester. She fantasized about her Professor hiding her from everyone and secretly teaching her magic. Those dreams filled her thoughts, and she'd knitted them into quite the elaborate fantasy, wherein he suddenly realized he loved her and married her and bought her a pretty house and a pony.

Her fantasies frequently took on revenge themes, where he would appear in the foyer downstairs and lay about with spells until he'd smashed all the mirrors and had vanquished all her foes. Even she knew this was a foolish and utterly unrealistic scenario, but the image of her grandmother throwing her hands up and begging for mercy at the end of Professor Snape's wand, while he looked to Hermione to give the word, was rather delicious. It was far more enjoyable than the recurring dream where her parents' carriage had started to tip and the Professor had swooped in and saved the day. Every day she lived with the knowledge that such a rescue would never happen. However, having her professor save her wasn't so far-fetched as to be utterly impossible. Just highly implausible.

He'd probably already forgotten she'd even existed.

She was on her own with nowhere to go.

She sighed and pulled her book back out from under her pillow and sat by her burning candle to read about another Louis. She was disturbed by a knock on the door, and she hastily put her book away and went to open it.

Cousin Andrew stood out in the hallways with a secretive smile.

"Let me in, cousin, before I'm caught!"

"What are you doing up here? You know you could get in trouble for being in the servants' wing!"

"I brought you some food! No one saw me, either. It was rather the adventure! I saw the argument you had with Gran and thought you would be hungry."

He held up a napkin filled with buttered bread and slices of beef.

"Oh, Andrew! You're an angel!"

She reached for it but he pulled it away.

"Uh, uh! Not so fast my little cousin. I thought we could, perhaps, work out an exchange."

Hermione frowned and looked about the mostly barren room. "I have nothing to offer."

"Indeed that is not so, cousin. I noticed right away that you had quite a bit more to offer since the last time we saw each other."

Hermione felt the hairs on her neck prick up and pulled her shawl tighter about herself.

"Now, now, cousin. That's not the done thing at all."

He reached out a hand and tried to tug her shawl down in the front, but she slapped a hand across her bosom and backed away.

"I think you had best leave, _cousin_. I can see where you might have drawn the erroneous assumption that I was powerless, but I assure you, most emphatically, that you are wrong. If you try to touch my person again, you will be sorry."

"Will I? Come on, Hermione. I know you have it hard here. I could make things quite pleasant for you."

Hermione felt her stomach lurch. Andrew took another step closer, and she didn't even think, she just curled her fist and walloped him, connecting with the side of his eye.

"_OW!_ _Blast!_ I think you've blinded me!"

"If you think that's bad, just imagine how it will hurt when I kick you in the stones! Now get out of here!"

Andrew scrambled backwards towards the door. "You're an uncouth, foulmouthed savage! You're… you're unnatural, that's what you are!" he yelled.

"You have _no _idea!" she snapped back, before she slammed the door in his face. She kicked it for good measure.

She turned around and found the food he had brought lying on the floor, still mostly wrapped in his napkin.

She enjoyed every bit of it, despite her sore hand.

* * *

Snape walked to the gates, with his head down and his spirits even lower, ignoring the sounds of the larks calling on the early summer breeze. His mind was a thousand miles away and twenty years in the past.

_Lily_.

This whole, wretched year had been one, long screeching nail on the chalkboard that was his memory of her. Everywhere he'd turned he couldn't escape her. Her friends, her son…

Her perfection was a constant mirror held up against his flaws, and his penance seemed endless.

He was filled to the brim with a bitter gal. That Black should prove innocent was the cap on one of the worst years of his professional life. His only solace was having rid the school of the werewolf. He'd come close to losing his grip completely when he'd wakened to find himself face-to-face with that monster again. Instead, he'd thrown himself between Lupin and those three beetle-headed boys, only to have Potter and Longbottom actually take off after the damned thing. He'd been left with an injured Weasley and no wand with which to call for help.

And how was he rewarded? He got a disappointed frown from Albus because the monster he'd hired had to be sacked, and endless nasty glares from The-Pustule-Who-Lived.

He ground his teeth together painfully.

He forced himself to relax, popped his hat on his head, gripped his cane, and Apparated to Manchester.

* * *

"Don't you have your own home?" his father spat when he saw him.

"I came to check on you and mother."

"We're fine. Don't need yer help. She's gone t'work at the Mill. Just because I'm wasting away, doesn't mean we need _yer_ charity!"

Severus stared at the wreck of a man who had been the bane of his existence for so many years. He pulled out his wand and cast a quick Diagnostic Spell. The cancer was far more advanced than he'd expected.

"I could help you," he said again, already knowing the answer.

Tobias looked at him with no expression and then it seemed as if all of a sudden the air went out of him.

"What would be the use, lad? Do yeh hate me so much that yeh would preserve my miserable existence just t' gain satisfaction?" The elder Snape pushed his pale, stringy hair out of his face and looked out the back window. "Do yeh think I deserve more of this? Did it never occur to yeh that I might have had a dream or two, meself? I'm tired. I'm ready to go." He turned his head and gave his son a beady stare. "I'm ready to see the back of yeh, as well. Go on, fuck off out of here. You've been nothing but a misery to me since I blew yeh out o'me nutsack."

Tobias Snape turned his long nose to the wall, so he didn't have to see his son anymore.

Severus left the bottle of rum he'd brought on the table before he left.

* * *

He slipped inside the front door quietly and dropped his bag on the floor. He pulled off his hat and set it on the small table by the door. He walked down the short hallway and into the little sitting room, where his eyes took in the curtains on the narrow windows and recognized them for what they were, his old bed sheets, bleached into new life, and sewn with a careful hand. There were fresh wildflowers in a cracked jar on the table and hand-tatted lace doilies on the arms and backs of the two chairs facing the settee. There was a baby in a large, wooden box in the corner, staring at him silently, with huge, black eyes. He walked into the room, and, flicking his coattails out of the way, he sat and crossed one leg over the other.

He stared back at the child.

She wobbled on her legs and sat down hard, disappearing from sight, and he waited until he saw a pudgy hand, with long fingers for a babe, grasp onto the side of the box again. She popped back into view and steadied herself with her other hand as she went back to her inspection of him. She raised an eyebrow, and he raised his. She smiled, and he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Small legs ran down the hallway and into the room. There was a startled squeak, and then Nigel came running over to stand in front of him. The boy looked at him with his large, powder blue eyes and timidly offered him the rest of his jam and bread.

"No, thank you."

"Ma'am. No fank you _ma'am_," the boy corrected gravely.

The boy stuffed the rest of his treat into his mouth, smearing a good portion of it on his cheek.

Snape went to pull out his wand and stopped. He mustn't. Not in this house. Never in this house. Magic could be traced, and lives depended on him never being traced here.

Instead, he pulled out his handkerchief and swiped at the boy's face and hands while Nigel squirmed and cried out.

"None of that," Snape snapped in disapproval. Nigel went still and silent immediately.

"Nigel? Where have you gone off to? If you're in the sitting room with that jam, I will—"

Severus turned and saw his wife looking surprised and flustered in the doorway. She snatched off her apron and patted frantically at the curls by her ears, turning bright pink before she blurted, "Welcome home… husband."

"Hello, Elspeth."

* * *

Elspeth's eyes opened as soon as she felt the bed dip behind her. She closed them tightly, to send a quick prayer of thanks, and kept herself very still. He could just need to sleep in a real bed. His nights in that chair last winter and those few days he'd spent at home in the spring would have been agony on any man's back.

Perhaps he simply didn't want to be alone. He'd looked lost and uncomfortable since she'd found him in the sitting room with the children.

It had been a puzzler, to use her old governess' word, how to make a man feel welcomed in his own home. She'd spent weeks planning and practicing, hoping she would get it right.

It was certainly out of her realm of experience. Henry had been all about pushing away. Severus was all about patience.

He was so strong, and yet the image she'd held in her mind, as she'd waited these long weeks for his return, was that of an easily startled bird. One wrong move on her part would send him flapping away again, and she knew that he would never come back if that happened.

She settled her wildly beating heart and tried to will herself back to sleep, only to feel his hand settle timidly on her shoulder. She rolled over onto her back and welcomed him with a tearful smile, unseen in the dark.

She wondered at the smell on his breath, like an odd liqueur. She wished he would kiss her, so she could taste it and find what it was, but he did not.

It began, as it always had. Stilted and restrained. She knew, in the mysterious way that women knew these things, that the magic wouldn't come this time. It didn't matter. If she was very good, it would be there in the future.

She fretted as he took what pleasure he could find, trying to figure out how to touch him, how to welcome him, without it feeling like the trap he'd fallen into knowingly when he'd saved her and the children.

Instead of the miraculous sharing she had hoped for, a different wonder occurred. When he'd spent himself inside of her with a painfully indiscreet shout, he didn't roll off. Instead, he collapsed down upon her, and she gathered his sweaty head to her shoulder.

There, in the dark, where no one could see, he cried like a wounded creature.

Elspeth Snape cradled her husband to her heart and wondered who the other woman was that had left him so broken inside.

Who ever this Lily was, this other that he would sometimes cry out for in his moment, Elspeth hated her with a blinding fury.

* * *

Elspeth brought him a pitcher of ale and a mug and set the small tray on his desk, where he was going over the ledgers she'd kept while he was gone.

"Thank you," he said with a noticeable amount of surprise.

"It is a hot day. Would you like me to open a window for you? There is a breeze…"

"I'm fine." He gestured to the books. "You've done well. I had expected more expense."

"I have learned the value of a penny," she replied with pride. "Having gone hungry so often for lack of one. I don't want to be more of a burden to you than I already am."

He gave her a direct look, and for a moment she thought that they might finally talk—actually talk—about the events that had thrown them together. Who they were, where they came from.

Instead, he pulled open the drawer and took out the twenty pound note that he'd left for her last winter.

"This is yours. Do with it what you will. When I leave again at summer's end, there will be another for emergencies."

For a moment her heart sank. Was he paying her for last night? Was she still just a whore to him? As if he read her mind, he scowled and his face grew thunderous.

"A wife needs funds, Elspeth. There are always unforeseen events in the future that are best planned for."

A _wife_. He'd said it! It must mean something, surely?

She reached across the desk and took the money, holding it tightly in her hand as if it would fly away.

He dismissed her with a silent wave and looked back down at his ledgers, re-inking his quill.

"I was wondering if I might have a moment more of your time?" she asked, wringing her red and raw hands.

He looked up and frowned. "Is something wrong with the children?"

Such immediate concern is a good sign, she thought. "Not at all, everyone is well. Simon is with them out in the sun."

"The boy needs a trade. He's too old to be a nursemaid."

"Well, yes. That would be good. He's a hard worker and very bright. Not afraid of a good day's labor either, if that helps color your opinion of his options. But that is not what I wished to speak to you about."

"Go on," he said, sipping his ale.

"Do you remember me asking if I could contact my family?"

Her husband's face went blank, and yet she could see him steeling himself as if for a blow. It occurred to her that this was a man that frequently had bad news dropped on him out of the blue. He nodded and waved a hand impatiently for her to get on with it.

"I did, you see. But I didn't post it from here. I was mindful of your injunctions, and I also had my own reasons for discretion, having to do with the events of my leaving my home to begin with."

"Henry Spanner," he said with distaste.

She nodded her head. "Just so. In any event, I walked into Addersley and posted it from there. I gave them an accounting of events, but omitted facts. I didn't even tell them your Christian name, only that you were a well-respected schoolmaster."

He snorted, and she suddenly realized she only had her own opinion to go on as far as that last. She knew so very little about this man.

"My mother wrote back, followed by a letter from my father."

"So you and your family are reconciled?"

"More than we were, thanks to you."

"This is good news, isn't it? Why do I suddenly feel as if I am not going to enjoy the sound of the other shoe when it falls? Get to the point."

She recoiled from the irritation on his face, and blurted, "My father is Lord Wrenham. I'm the daughter of a Baron."

The room was silent, but for the ticking of the clock and the sound of laughter out in the yard.

"This makes you the Honorable…"

"I'm just Mrs. Snape. Nobody ever actually says the Honorable part, except to address a letter."

She winced at the angry scowl on his face and took note never to correct him on points of etiquette again.

"Tell me you have seven brothers, preferably all older than you."

"One. I had two, but my youngest brother died recently."

"My condolences. This surviving brother, he is hale and whole and has seven sons?"

"Not yet, he is still on the continent taking a year to see the sights before settling down. My parents have been unable to contact him, but his last letter assured them he was in good health."

"You have older sisters with sons?"

"I'm the oldest."

He sat back and blew out a breath. "Madam, you had better hope that your brother spawns a litter as soon as he is able. If your little Nigel is in line to be the heir of Wrenham, that entails complications I do not have the time, the patience, or the _breeding _to deal with."

"I'm aware of that, and I made my father aware of that as well. However, as Nigel _is_ in line for the title, there are things you need to sign, as he is your legally adopted son."

"When did this happen?"

"I was hoping you could arrange it. I told my father you already were."

"Why?"

"Because my father wants to take him away from me." Her eyes filled with tears and she twisted her fingers together painfully. "He doesn't believe we are legally married, since I willywobbled on our last name, but he knows Nigel was born legitimate because he had already found the parish Henry and I had married in and has seen the registry. I wouldn't tell him where to find our records, because they would include your _real_ name. He has told me he would settle a sum of twenty thousand pounds on me and raise the boy himself."

He looked at her with simmering anger, and she could see the small amount of goodwill they had created last night in the dark, receding like a tide. His black eyes stabbed at the twenty pound note she was still clutching. More money than she'd ever held before, and yet nothing compared to what she would have if she sold her son to her father.

"Are there any other secrets from your past I should be made aware of, madam?"

"No. That's the meat of it, everything else is just dressing."

He nodded and then picked up the quill he'd set down again. "Then calm yourself, _wife_. I will take care of it."

She sagged as if she'd suddenly gone boneless. _Wife._ He'd said it again and had even emphasized the word. "Bless you, Severus."

He raised an eyebrow at that and waved a dismissive hand.

She fled the room.

* * *

And there you go...


	15. Respite

**AN**: Can I just say that I absolutely love how you all read each other's reviews and comment? I wish they allowed crosstalk; you guys have really created quite the little community, and it adds so much to the experience.

* * *

Hermione heard the commotion and made her way downstairs to investigate. There in the ornate foyer, she found her Aunt Alice at a standoff with Lady Granger.

"Aunt Alice!"

She flew down the stairs and into Alice's welcoming arms.

Alice hugged her tightly and then pushed her away to look at her. She pressed her lips flat and turned toward Lady Granger.

"Why do you fight me to keep her when she is so obviously unwanted," she hissed. "She's barely decent in these clothes!"

"You have no say in the matter, whatsoever, Mrs. Perthwit. You can have the child for the month, but if she is not back on the first, I will send a constable after her and have you clapped in irons for kidnapping."

Hermione blanched at the overt hostility. All pretenses of good manners had been abandoned.

Alice turned her toward the stairs. "Go and pack quickly. If you have any more wretched dresses like that, leave them behind for the servants to use as the rags they are." When she hesitated, her aunt added, "The faster the better, child. Go."

Hermione backed away as the two women started arguing with each other again and then turned on her heel and ran back up to her room.

* * *

Alice obviously struggled mightily to restrain her temper once Hermione was ensconced in the safety of her carriage, but it didn't last.

"Why does that woman fight me so! She is the most perverse creature! One can tell just by looking at you that she takes no care of you at all! Good gods, look at your hair! Doesn't that hurt?"

Hermione reached up and patted at her severely restrained hair. 'It hurt constantly for the first few weeks. Now it hurts to let it down."

To Hermione's shocked dismay, her aunt burst into tears.

"Forget Otterwold. I should take you straight away to the continent where we can lose ourselves until you reach your majority!"

"Grandmother is loathed to let go of her possessions, Alice. She wasn't bluffing when she said she would send out the constabulary. We would be hunted across Europe, and even after I gained my majority, she would have you arrested if you ever returned to England."

The landau stopped after only a short drive, and Pete jumped down and opened the door.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked.

"We are going first to a dressmaker's. Just over there. After that, we buy you shoes, bonnets, the works. And a new trunk to put them all in. In short, today we shop. Tomorrow we can head to Devon."

Hermione spent the day being measured and poked and pricked with pins, as she tried to stand very still. Aunt Alice had declared an end to mourning and fell into a long debate over fabrics with the seamstress. In the end, she had two new, sprigged muslin gowns in hand, and four more that would be shipped when ready. As well as a new riding habit. Alice had the woman leave extra material so they could be let out or down for when she grew. She had new stockings and garters and petticoats and chemises, along with nightgowns and several pairs of unmentionables. Added to this were three pairs of slippers and new sturdy boots that made her quite happy. It was all finished with hats and gloves and shawls and enough different ribbon to remake twenty bonnets.

At every opportunity, Alice ranted on about the shocking condition she'd found her niece in, slowly but surely impugning Lady Granger's reputation amongst the tradespeople and, gossip being the highly valued coin it was, eventually with the town.

Pete was loading the last of their purchases into the carriage when Alice turned to her. "Now we must find a hotel and some food. The woman does feed you, doesn't she?"

"Yes, Aunt. It is not as bad as you make it seem."

"No, it's horrifying. You've just lost perspective."

"Alice, there are people in the world who have nothing. Surely, I am blessed compared to them."

"Oh, God. She's turning you into a missionary!" Alice sat back against the velvet seat and sighed. "You're right. Of course you're right. It's just that…" She waved her hands in a futile gesture. "I tried, Hermione. I spent a fortune on lawyers trying to get you out of there and lost each and every time. I even tried to ask your professor to magic the old hag, but he said he wasn't allowed to."

"My professor?"

"That Snape fellow. He came to my home one night, thinking I was your guardian. I don't know how he found me. He just blew in on the evening breeze. He was highly agitated that you hadn't returned to school and hoped to try to talk me into letting you attend. He was very upset when I told him of your circumstances."

Hermione was thrilled by the warm feeling that flooded her at this news. She had been so cold for so long, even her joy at seeing Alice again had turned quickly to a feeling of being overwhelmed into numbness. Hearing that her professor had noticed her absence, that he had, in fact, tried to rectify the situation, thawed her emotions and left her with a pleasant buzzing along her limbs.

"That's the way of it, is it?"

Hermione turned to her aunt and saw a knowing look. She blushed to the roots of her hair.

"No. That's not the way of it at all. I admit, I might admire him with an excess of enthusiasm, but until this moment, I had no reason to think he would have even remembered me at all, never mind gone out of his way again."

"Again?"

"The teeth, but you must keep that to yourself."

"Oh, yes. He did explain a bit about that. And from what he led me to believe, we missed out on a bit of delicious drama. He said he'd met with Lady Granger before. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall."

Hermione smiled viciously. "Indeed."

"So. Where shall we stay? We could go to that 'Cauldron' place you took me to. They had rooms to let. And then we could have a stroll through Diagon Alley?"

Hermione pressed her hand against her heart to try and stop the sudden pain.

"No," she whispered. She lifted her head and beseeched, "Let's not. It hurts me to think about magic. I have three more years to endure before I can use it again. If I am to survive them with my sanity intact, it's best to just pretend it doesn't exist."

"Hermione, are you sure? That doesn't sound like a good plan."

She looked out the window at the passing buildings. "I'm sure."

"Alright," Alice said softly. "Peter, take us to the Dorchester, if you would."

"Aye, ma'am."

* * *

Hermione spent the first week at Otterwold very close to the house and gardens. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she feared straying too far would cause it to disappear.

Alice indulged her and hovered for the same reasons. She'd had the house rearranged so that Hermione had the bedroom next to hers. She'd had it redecorated in Gryffindor colors which made Hermione laugh when she saw it, but Hermione never went near the shelves full of her old textbooks and only picked up her wand once.

She'd flicked it and then cried so hard at the resulting sparkles, that she didn't touch it again.

The second week, she wandered a bit further afield. She met Fredrick and Henrietta Janssen at church on Sunday, and they all went for a stroll in the Earl's park after service. Fredrick was now fifteen and very excited to be heading off for an apprenticeship in law soon. Henrietta swore she would die of loneliness when he did but then immediately started talking about the Misses Carson that had moved into the county and their dreamy older brother. Fredrick and Hermione were rather assured that Henrietta would survive.

After that pleasant expedition, Alice and Hermione resumed their former habit of taking morning rides.

It was on one of those mornings that Hermione decided they should take another route, south towards the distant orchards, and not north into the Earl's park. They had a lovely ride, but as they drew closer to the apple orchards, Alice grew restless and began expressing a wish to return to her home. Her agitation grew stronger the further they went and both horses became restive. Hermione smiled, sure that her theory was now proven, and was only too happy to return to Otterwold.

After lunch, she set off back toward the south in her comfortable sturdy boots.

She reached the orchard in good time and threaded her way through the trees. Eventually, she felt the shudder of magic that meant she'd breached a ward, and she smiled. She continued on toward a pond, and as she passed through a thicket that had formed a natural arch to pass under, she was startled by a voice.

"Who are you? How did you get onto our property?"

She turned toward the voice and cried, "Ginny!"

"Hermione? Merlin! It _is_ you!"

The two girls danced about each other babbling with joy.

"However did you find us?" Ginny squeaked after another impulsive hug.

"Ronald told me a long time ago you lived in this area, and I remembered you saying something about apple orchards. I decided to go on an expedition to find you."

"I'm so very glad you did!"

Ginny's face fell and she took one of Hermione's hands in her own. "I'm so terribly sorry about your parents. We were all devastated when we heard the news. Professor McGonagall was very upset. I think even Professor Snape was, as well. Malfoy made a tasteless joke about it, and Snape actually held him after class so long to berate him, he didn't make it to his next class, which I understand was terribly exciting because Hagrid let Harry ride a hippogriff." Ginny seemed to realize she'd run off at a tangent and grimaced. "The point is… we missed you. I wrote to you, Ron did as well, but we never heard a reply."

"I live with my father's mother, and she doesn't allow me any correspondence. It took me a while to understand why everyone had forgotten me, but then I found my own letters half burnt in the fire and understood that mine had never left the house either."

"How terrible! What an awful woman! So did you run away? We can hide you here!"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm staying with my Aunt Alice. My mother's sister. I've been here just over a week, and I'll be here through to the twenty-seventh. Then I go back to London again. I'm only allowed one month with my aunt."

"Oh, Hermione. It sounds so dreadful. You should run away! We really could hide you here!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at this typical display of Gryffindor chivalry, with its accompanying Gryffindor foresight.

"If I hide here with you, my Grandmother will have my Aunt in trouble. Although, I must say that I am pleased to add another location to my escape fantasies."

Ginny shook her head in sympathy, if not understanding. "Well, you will need a tour to get the whole picture. Come. I'll show you my home. Ron's off with the twins on some adventure, but Percy's home. You remember Percy? And you can meet my mother. If you stay long enough, you can meet my father as well. He'll like you; he adores Muggles."

Ginny wrapped her arm around Hermione's elbow and the two girls headed off to The Burrow.

After being properly introduced to Mrs. Weasley and receiving a very warm welcome indeed, Ginny gave her a quick tour of her fantastical house, which seemed to defy both physics and common sense, and then they took themselves off to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley stuffed Hermione full of tea and pumpkin pasties.

"I have so much to tell you about this last school year," Ginny said. It seems like poor Harry never fails to attract drama. It started when Sirius Black escaped from prison. Everyone thought he was a murderer, you see…"

Hermione listened with rapt attention to Ginny's detailed account of Harry, Ron and Neville's third year at school.

"Wait," she interrupted. "So you mean to say that the boys knocked Professor Snape unconscious?" Hermione was appalled. "Whyever would they do such a thing? He is a teacher! They attacked their instructor!"

Ginny patted her hand. "He's also a bit of a turk, Hermione. Besides, they had to. Snape was going to arrest Mr. Black, and then Harry wouldn't have found out the truth! It's a good thing they did, too. The rat escaped, but then so did Mr. Black, so I guess there's a balance. Harry won't say how his godfather escaped, but we think it was Dumbledore somehow, even though he had the Minister himself for an alibi. I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to figure out how to be in two places at once. He _has_ been telling Ron about some of the things Mr. Black has told him though. It turns out that Snape is a pretty bad character."

"_Professor_ Snape, Ginny. And I happen to know that is false. Professor Snape is a man of extremely fine character, indeed."

"Perhaps to you, but Mr. Black told Harry that Snape knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone else in the school."

"Well, obviously. He had hoped for the Defense position."

"No, you misunderstand. Mr. Black went to school with Snape. They're the same age. Along with Professor Lupin and Harry's parents. Snape knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone at the school when he showed up for his _first year_."

Hermione's eyebrows rose up. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed. After he left school, he became a Death Eater."

Hermione's mind went numb. She knew what a Death Eater was. She'd read about them while still at school in a copy of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.

"I don't believe you," she whispered.

"It's true. I know you don't like to think badly about teachers, but Snape was even arrested."

"But he must have been found innocent. I mean, how would he have been accepted at the school had he been found guilty?"

"Dumbledore spoke on his behalf."

"There! See? I knew there was more to the story. Honestly. You had me going there for a minute."

Ginny gave her a pat on the hand, and they dropped that subject and moved on.

"I see you're still quite smitten with Harry," Hermione said with a smile.

"I am. I always shall be. However, I think I might die of shock if he ever notices I am anything but Ron's sister, and then where will I be? Dead on the ground at just the wrong moment."

Hermione let out a peel of laughter.

"What about you? Have you found anyone special? Is there some handsome Muggle boy that has captured your heart?"

"Not hardly. I would have to meet one first. Well, I do know one, Fredrick, but he is just a friend."

Hermione went on to explain her dreary life and the refuge that was Aunt Alice.

"You must come and meet her, Ginny. In fact, I should like to invite your whole family to Otterwold for dinner one night this week. My aunt would love to meet you; she is absolutely fascinated by magic."

"That sounds like fun. I'll let my mother know."

"I'll ask my aunt and then send you an invitation, now that I know where you live."

"I'll tell you what, I'll come to Otterwold tomorrow to visit, and you can let me know the particulars then! For now, let's get you home. I know your legs must be tired from that walk, I'll go grab my broom."

"No! No, thank you. I can walk just fine. In fact, I could use the exercise. I wouldn't want to risk being seen by Muggles."

"Don't be silly. Father charmed the brooms so Muggles can't see us on our brooms."

Hermione stood by the door looking slightly ill as Ginny raced off to grab a broom.

* * *

"Do you think they will like the menu I've picked? I do so hope they like the menu. Perhaps I should have gone with the mutton, not the pork. Do they eat pork? Oh heavens, what if I've insulted them?"

"Alice, as far as I know, the Weasley's aren't Jewish."

"Are there magical Jews?"

"Yes. Anthony Goldstein was in my class, and he was Jewish. There are magical everyones. It's no more restricted to culture than dark hair."

"I thought you said they were all red-haired," blurted Alice, in a sudden panic as if there were to be an exam.

"Relax, Alice," soothed Hermione. "They will like you. In fact, I bet Ginny's parents are just as nervous about meeting you."

"Truly?"

"Absolutely."

They heard the sound of a carriage pulling up, and Hermione ran over to the window to check that the horses weren't see-through. They weren't, but they weren't completely natural-looking to the knowing eye either.

"They're here!"

Hermione and Alice scrambled up and out the door of Alice's chambers, only managing to remember their manners when they reached the top of the stairs. The door was opened by Mrs. Crabtree, and the Weasleys, Mr. and Mrs., Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny, all entered and looked around curiously.

Hermione hurried down the rest of the stairs, and Ron smiled broadly and met her at the bottom.

"Hello, Hermione. It is so good to see you again!"

* * *

"What do you mean you've never cooked?" said Molly Weasley in the drawing room after dinner.

"I assure you," Alice said with a conspiratorial smile, "the only thing that was required of me by my husband, may he rest in eternal peace, was to look pretty and not talk too much. The servants did all the cooking. It's a shame really. I think I would have very much enjoyed learning."

"Oh, it's never too late. You must come to The Burrow one afternoon after I get all my heathens back off to school, and I will teach you something simple."

"I would enjoy that very much indeed."

Arthur Weasley was standing by the fireplace looking at the tapestry bell pull. "So you just pull this here and a servant comes?"

"Yes," explained Hermione. "It's attached to a wire that runs through the walls of the house and down to a little bell in the kitchen. They can tell by the bell, which room you are in when you ring."

Mr. Weasley had a child-like look of wonder on his face. "How very clever. Very clever, indeed."

Hermione smiled, as he went back over to sit with his wife and began asking Alice detailed questions about steam engines. Her aunt held her own quite well and surprised Hermione with her knowledge.

"He's not being too embarrassing, I hope," Ron asked, with a wince.

"Nah," said Fred.

"Not our Dad," finished George.

"He's not embarrassing at all. You have no idea how nervous my aunt was before you arrived. I think she is having a wonderful time answering all of their questions. You had to put up with her inquisition over dinner; turnabout is fair play and all that."

She turned back to her friends. "So what are your plans for the rest of the summer?"

"We're going to the Quidditch World Cup finals!" exclaimed Ron.

"Oh? Who's playing?"

"Our money's on Ireland," said Fred.

"They'll be in as soon as they beat France," said George.

"Which they will," avowed Fred.

"It doesn't make a difference, Viktor Krum will crush them," boasted Ron.

Hermione looked to Ginny for an explanation as the boys fell into what was apparently an ongoing argument.

"Ron's hero plays for the Bulgarian team. They are the heavy favorites. They have to beat Greece, but I don't think that will be a problem."

"What will you be doing when they go?"

"Oh, I'm going with them! I'm just as Quidditch mad as the rest of them; I'm just a good deal more mature."

Hermione laughed, and Ron turned to her with a snide look on his face. "She says this now, but just you wait until Harry comes with us. Then she will turn right back into a squeaking mouse."

All three boys started to laugh, and Ginny flushed bright red and stomped off to go inspect Alice's bookshelves with Percy.

"You mustn't be so rude to her. It can't be easy being the only girl."

All three of them gave her a blank look. She decided to change the subject.

"So have you started studying for your classes this upcoming term?" she asked.

"Eh?"

"Come again?"

"What would we do that for?" said Ron, just as baffled as his brothers.

She rolled her eyes. "So you can be prepared!" Nothing. "So you can get good marks?"

"Oh. Well…" said Fred.

"…We don't have to worry about that," finished George.

She turned to Ron. "What about you? Have your marks improved since I was there with you?"

"Well… You see… I'm not really the scholarly type. My gifts are more along the line of—"

"Eating," George tossed in.

Hermione joined in the laughter, having to concede the point.

"You should really try to pay more attention to your studies," she gently chided. "If my story has any lesson, it is that nothing is guaranteed in this life."

Ron sobered up immediately. "I'm truly sorry, Hermione. It does seem awfully unfair. You were the best student in the school."

Hermione held herself together rather well considering. A lip wobble and misty eyes were all that escaped her control.

"I did so enjoy it. I miss magic."

Ron patted her on the hand awkwardly.

"You'll get your chance. Once you're of age, you can dive right back in. I'll save all my old books for you! I can give you my books for last year if you like!"

She gave him a watery smile. "I'd like that. Thank you Ron."

"I can ask the other Gryffindors, and between us, we can write to you every day and tell you what the lessons were!"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, that would be a bit much, and besides, my grandmother intercepts my mail. I haven't had a letter since my parents died."

"That's why you never answered our letters," Ron hissed. "Harry and Neville and I all wrote to you. I know Ginny did as well."

"She told me. None of my letters were sent either. I'm not even allowed to communicate with Aunt Alice."

"That's not right," hissed Ron.

"We can't allow that, can we Fred?"

"Right you are, George."

"Have you got a bedroom window?" asked George. "We could let you borrow Errol."

"Mind you, he's not the best," Ron added.

"Your Aunt could send your letters to our mum, and she could send them on with Errol," Fred said with a satisfied nod.

George nodded as well before saying, "And you could send your letters back with him, and Mum could get them where they needed to be."

"That would be marvelous!" said Hermione. She jumped up from her chair and ran to fetch some parchment so she could give them her address.

* * *

Tada! Friends!

Psst. Kermit. You have your PMs set to private.


	16. Relative

AN: Righto. Back to the drama...

* * *

Severus sat in the coach next to his wife and stared out the window at the Gloucestershire countryside sliding past.

Elspeth fussed at the skirts of her new gown, picking off imaginary lint and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles as they passed through Blimpton.

He frowned at her obvious distress.

"Madam, it is imperative that you not show weakness. Do try to get a hold of yourself."

She turned a fearful look at him and folded her hands in her lap.

"I will be better once we are there. I just want it to be over with."

"As do I, I assure you, but it won't go any faster for the fretting."

She shrank in on herself, and he scowled. He was incredibly tired of watching her shrink away at his every comment. She fluttered about him like a moth and then startled whenever he opened his mouth. He was growing weary of trying to be pleasant, what more did she want?

He grimaced and turned his face toward the window again. He knew what she wanted, but that was impossible. Her feelings were obviously nothing more than gilded gratitude, which would inevitably fade away once she grew accustomed to her new life. Surely being comfortable was enough? He had no room in his heart for love, although he did hold her in esteem. There was little chance to build anything on a foundation of only necessity. No, she would have to accept respect. It was more than he gave anyone else.

He respected her in many ways. She was good with the children, wise with money, and a skilled manager when it came to the home. She had an almost preternatural practicality that he found fascinating. She adapted to what life threw at her with an almost frightening speed.

She was rather uneducated by his definition and not particularly intelligent. Even Simon could talk circles around her when it came to logic. The most frustrating thing was that Severus had nearly nothing at all to talk to her about.

"Do you think the children are alright?" she asked in a high voice. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I liked that wet-nurse you brought for Grace. I think she had a sickly look about her."

"She was in perfect health, or I wouldn't have let her near my daughter."

"I just don't think this was a good idea."

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Predictably, she shrank back into the cushion of the coach.

"We've been over this, and I intensely dislike repeating myself. If we had brought Grace, then there would have been no reason to not have brought Nigel. Until an understanding is reached, it is not safe to allow your father anywhere near the boy."

He realized his voice had become sharp and forced himself to be calmer.

"Just leave everything to me. Drink your tea, visit with your mother and sisters, and do _not _show fear."

"As you wish, husband. I have complete faith in you."

Severus found himself almost disgustingly mollified by her words as the carriage turned onto an avenue and they entered Wrenham Park, resplendent in its summer glory.

* * *

The Right Honorable Lord Wrenham paced back and forth across the Aubusson rug in his private study with a mighty scowl on his colicky face. He was utterly shocked and apparently appalled that his more than generous offer of instant wealth had been rejected by this somewhat frightening commoner.

Snape didn't need to read minds to know this. It was written on the man's face like lurid prose.

"See here. This is most irregular. Just who the devil do you think you are dealing with?"

Severus sat back against the blue velvet cushion of the bergere chair and sipped his wine. He made a moue of distaste and set the glass down as if it offended him.

"A little early for that claret, don't you think? Or were you trying to get rid of me by offending my taste buds, my lord? Surely you weren't trying to solicit my cooperation with such unfinished fare?" He stood to his full height and walked across to the desk and lifted back up the signed and sealed documents the Baron had dropped in surprise. He looked back over his shoulder at the supercilious man.

He'd had quite enough. He'd been patient though the dramatic reunion with the prodigal, sat through a tedious dinner filled with pointed personal questions and incessant chatter, and now hadn't even broken a sweat in the effort it took to rebuff this man's incredibly ham-fisted attempts to suborn him, despite his own daughter's stated wishes.

"The more pertinent question, _my lord_, is who do you think _you_ are dealing with? I couldn't give a fig for your title. I don't give a tinker's dam about your estates. I couldn't begin to give a sod about what is right and proper. You disowned your daughter with extreme prejudice when she disgraced herself. I have shown you the marriage license. I have shown you the papers making Nigel Spanner Snape my legal son. Your hand holds no aces. You're all bluff, and it is rather painfully obvious."

As he spoke, he circled around the Baron, slowly getting closer.

"Elspeth made a tragic mistake, and you spat her out of your life like a bad bite of mutton. Now that you have had a bit of misfortune yourself, you want her child—tried to buy him off of her, thinking to use her former poverty against her.

"Well it won't work. She doesn't need your money. She doesn't need your forgiveness. She doesn't need you, full stop. I will not turn the boy over to you, because my wife doesn't wish it. You need to accept this fact. It will not happen."

When he finished his speech, he ended up directly in front of the Baron, looking down on his ridiculously out-of-date powdered wig.

The Baron looked like he was on the verge of a fit. Snape took a step back in case the man vomited on his carefully chosen ensemble of a superfine navy-blue cutaway coat, and dark wine silk waistcoat.

"You want more money, don't you?" the fool gasped out. "Fine. I'll make it forty thousand and the property in Hempstead. But that is my last offer, Snape. This is the blackest extortion. I should have known you would stoop to such depths. You may have fine manners and speech, and you may even be a learned man, as Lizzie claims, but blood will out, and yours shows, sir. It shows."

Snape felt his anger ignite at the man's words. He stepped forward again until he was towering over the plump little pig-fucker and let all pretense of civility drop away.

"Inbreeding will out as well, _my lord_. Obviously your brain is far too compromised to understand the long word, so I will use the short. Pray that you find your other son soon. Get him wed to some weak-brained virgin, and make sure he begets boys—fuck her yourself if you have to—because you are not getting Elspeth's son. She loves him. He is everything in the world to her. That has a value far more than all your money and property. If you try to take him, it will be the last thing you do. Is that plain enough?"

"You dare threaten me? I will have you clapped in irons!"

"You'll be dead before you call for your chamberlain, and I promise you, I will never dance at the end of a rope for the crime." Snape allowed himself a crude and intentionally painful invasion of the man's mind. Wading through the man's thoughts as if it was cold mud, he planted the whisper, "No one could stop me."

Lord Wrenham danced backwards and fell into a gilded chair. Snape could see that he was already talking himself out of what had just happened. Denying the reality of what his son-in-law had just done. But the message was clear, and it stayed behind after the other had been rationalized away.

"You cannot understand…" the man said in a beaten voice. "I must preserve my estate."

"Oh, I understand, Wrenham. I just don't care. I will make you one promise. If by some ill luck, Nigel does inherit your title. He will be educated. He will know the value of money, and he will have a far better sense of what is decent wine and what is rat pissings."

The Baron stared at Snape in utter defeat. Snape sneered as he saw the man's thoughts. He'd known the law was against him and had counted on his money and power to either enchant or intimidate. He realized far too late that he'd brought the wrong weapon to bear in the duel.

"This is unnatural," the Lord said. "The boy will have no knowledge of how to go about in society."

Snape sneered. "He will be wealthy. Society will come to him."

The Lord gave him a piercing stare and then nodded his head weakly.

"You run a nasty game, Mr. Snape, but I cannot fault your loyalty to my daughter. I find it curiously strange that a commoner such as yourself should be without weakness or vice. You are utterly disengaged from the rules of society. I envy that. Do not misunderstand, if I can find a way to destroy you, I will, but I will regret it, nonetheless. Keep an eye on your own health, sir. If anything were to happen to you, then there would be no guarantee as to what could happen to those you seek to protect."

Snape backed away, now that the counter threat had finally been made. "Please give my regrets to Lady Wrenham, but the party she planned for tomorrow to celebrate Elspeth's return will have to be cancelled. We will be leaving at first light. I'm sure you understand."

The Baron gave him a nasty glare, but Snape just raised an eyebrow and turned his back on him.

He found the women in the parlor. Elspeth looked at sea amidst the excited chattering of her mother and younger sisters. They all fell silent when they saw him in the doorway.

"Come wife. The hour grows late, and we had best retire."

Elspeth stood with deliberate grace and, with polite wishes for a good night to her mother and sisters, she swept across the room to him. He held out his arm, and she wrapped both hands around it and walked with him upstairs without a backward glance.

Picking up on her desire to show a united front, he pulled her in close to his side. He stopped before her bedroom door, knowing the youngest sister was skulking on the stairs watching, and tenderly kissed her goodnight to enhance the facade. When he pulled away, Elspeth was looking at him with shocked eyes. He turned away from both females, before he rolled his eyes and headed for his own bedchamber next door.

Once he was alone, he sat down hard on the bed and let out a shuddering breath. He'd had to tell Wrenham his true identity on the growing chance that something would happen to him. He didn't want to risk that they would find some posthumous loophole and take Elspeth's son away after all. It was ironic, considering half the papers he'd presented were forgeries, but no one knew that. A half-dozen highly illegal Memory Charms had made everything nice and official. However, there was no getting around the fact that he had made an enemy for life, and this new enemy knew his real name.

Add to that fact that unlawful use of magic on a Muggle could land him in Azkaban, and he was in quite the pickle. He decided that the chance of someone like Wrenham being in the same circles as anyone even remotely connected to the Wizarding World was remote, but he was still uncertain enough to be left with a seething fear gnawing at his gut. He would have preferred Obliviating the lot of them and leaving them with the belief their eldest daughter and her children had died. He could have justified that under the Statute of Secrecy, but the fool had told too many people, and Elspeth really did long for some form of eventual reconciliation with these useless cretins.

He swore quietly. How much further could things spin out of control? He was a fool. He knew his time was limited. He didn't know how, and he didn't know when, but he'd felt his Dark Mark twisting just under the skin for weeks now. Every day it grew just a little darker. Severus knew he would be dead soon, and he'd just pledged innocent lives on his survival.

How could he hope to hide his memories? He'd always been adept at Occlumency, but he would need to be better than even Dumbledore himself to hide his Muggle family and the daughter he desperately prayed was a squib.

As soon as they returned to Cheshire, he would set about putting his affairs in order. One day soon, he wouldn't return home from school, and he needed to make sure they were all taken care of when that day came.

He changed into his nightshirt and threw on his dressing gown before opening the door separating their chambers. Elspeth and he had developed a pattern of somewhat regular moments of gently shared pleasure, but that was back in Cheshire, where she was just his wife. Tonight, with his blood still up, she was the Baron's daughter and this little Mancunian street rat was going to fuck her under the man's very roof. If he played his cards right, he would be able to keep the entire household awake with her pleasure.

* * *

Elspeth stood at the window in the early morning light and watched her husband walk off down the lane. Grace fussed in her arms, and she swayed unconsciously to soothe her.

"So he's gone again?" asked Simon from over her shoulder.

"Yes. Back to his school. Back to his other life."

"He left sooner than I expected."

"He said he would travel to Manchester first to check on his parents. I imagine he will be traveling for a week. Why doesn't he buy himself a horse?"

"He don't know how to ride one. It's not like they hand us all out ponies to ride on the streets, you know." Simon took Grace from her arms and began to bounce her in the air. "He said you'd keep up my lessons? Elocution and reading and such?"

"Of course. If he said it, I will do it."

Simon settled the baby on his shoulder. "You love him. Don't you?"

Elspeth turned to the boy and said, "Don't you?"

Simon grimaced in discomfort. "Not like you do. It's not the same."

She looked back out the window in time to see her husband disappear around the turn. "No one loves him like I do. I just wish he would love me in return. Just a little. I would settle for just a little love."

"I can't say as I've ever seen Mr. Snape happy, but I have seen him content here. I think you make him happy enough."

She gave him a wry smile. "That will have to do then, won't it? I wish I knew who the girl was that broke his heart. I would claw her eyes out."

"I know who she was. My old dad grew up with Snape and McKenzie, the manager of the mill. I used to pester him with questions when I was small, because I thought Mr. Snape was such a fascinating cove."

"Who was she? Who was this woman?"

"Lily Evans. She was a bank clerk's daughter. Dad said she was beautiful, and Snape used to follow her around like a puppy. They both went off to that school he works at now."

"And she's the one that broke his heart? Was he not good enough for her? I should find her and tell her a thing or two. Bank clerk's daughter, indeed."

"Can't. Father was told by McKenzie, who had it from her sister Petunia, that she died."

Elspeth looked back out the window, wishing there was some physical mark on the lane to show he'd been there. "Oh. I'm competing with a dead girl then."

"Aye. Not a fair fight at all."

* * *

Snape stomped down the road trying to walk off his irritability. His Dark Mark had been paining him ever since he'd woken up before dawn with it burning into his nightmares. It left him with a deep feeling of dread and foreboding.

When he was a mile down the road, he turned into a spin and Disapparated to Manchester. He grimaced from the stench, as he came out of the alley and turned up the lane. He stopped in his tracks outside his parents' door.

It was boarded up tight, with a sign directing inquiries to Stanley McKenzie of Turner's Mill.

He turned and hurried to the mill with a lump in his throat and a growing weight in his belly.

"I tried to find yeh," McKenzie said after closing the door to his office and muffling some of the noise from the factory below. "No one knew where yeh went off to. So many just disappear without a trace in this city. I have to say I was upset, thinking ye were one of them. I sent a letter to yer school like you asked me to, hoping yeh were teaching some extra classes in the summer or such like. Then I boarded the place up for yeh."

"I was away on business," Snape mumbled. "Tell me what happened."

"Well, old Tobias, he went first. He got sick something terrible, and the doctor was sent for, but there was nothing to be done. They gave him some'at for the pain, and he went peaceful like. Eileen, now there's a mystery. She was looking pretty good. Yeh know she's had her health issues, but she'd been looking very well lately. But when Tobias died, she just turned her face to the wall. Some of the women looked after her, but she wouldn't eat and she wouldn't drink. They came by one morning and she was just gone. Shocking really. I always thought they hated each other. Not to be disrespectful, mind. I used the money I had left from you to bury them proper. I did try to find yeh. I'm sorry, man. It can't be easy to lose them both like this. "

Snape looked down at his empty hands, trying to block out the incessant clack, whir and groan of the spinning mules on the factory floor, making cotton thread by the mile, each machine capable of over a thousand spools a day. He turned and looked out the foreman's window and down onto the floor below. Where the workers, men, women and children, pushed and pulled and snipped and scurried back and forth in an endless display of activity.

None of this had been here when he was a child. These machines—this great industrial revolution—had marred the landscape of his youth. Not that that had been any better.

It all just seemed like part of a life he'd never fitted into. He remembered the hours he and Lily had spent watching this very building rise up over the city. How they'd made a solemn vow that both of them would die before they would ever work here. As if she would ever have been destined for this life. No, her parents had moved away when the workers had come from the farms by the thousands and choked the city.

Lily and he had kept their childish vow. He'd never worked here…

…and she'd died.

"Did either of them ever ask for me?" he asked the dusty window.

"No."

* * *

"Welcome back, Severus. I trust you had a good summer? How are your parents?"

"Dead, the both of them."

Dumbledore blinked, and then his face infused with sadness and concern. He reached out and placed a hand on Snape's shoulder, and the younger man froze, not knowing how to respond.

"Would you like to sit a while and talk about it?" the Headmaster asked, trying to guide him to a chair.

Snape shrugged him off.

"No. I would rather talk about this…" He snatched up the sleeve of his robe, showing his darkening mark writhing just under the skin.

Dumbledore sat down hard in the chair he'd intended for Snape.

"So. It begins."

"You must let me have the Dark Arts position. You _must_ let me prepare them!"

"No. You cannot be seen to be trying to prepare anyone but the children of our enemies. Things are precarious enough already. Now, more than ever, you cannot be seen caring for your charges." Dumbledore raised a hand in the face of Snape's impending anger. "I will prepare them. They will have a teacher this year who will help them understand what they are facing."

"Who is it this time?"

"Alastor Moody."

Snape grimaced with disgust.

"I know what you think of the man, but you cannot argue that he doesn't take the Dark Arts seriously. He's the best choice. I need you to prepare for Riddle's imminent return."

"I've been preparing these last two years."

"Nonetheless, from here on in it will only get worse, I fear."

"Will you tell the boy? Will you let him know what he's facing?"

"The boy already has had a taste of how high the stakes are. He was at the World Cup when the Death Eaters attacked it."

Snape felt himself grow pale as the news hit him.

"What attack?"

"You didn't know about it? But of course, I'm sorry. You must have been busy with your parents…"

"That's not the issue here, Albus. I didn't know about it because no one bothered to invite me to the party. Don't you see? They already don't trust me! This isn't going to work."

"Of course they wouldn't trust you, Severus. You've been working for me all these years. It's not their trust you must gain. It's his. And once you have it again, you must do anything in your power to keep it. _Anything_."

Severus slowly sat in the other chair across from the Headmaster. When an offer of tea was made, he didn't refuse.

* * *

And there you go...


	17. Destiny

AN: And now, The Goblet of Fire, as viewed by a bystander.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Do you remember when I told you about the Tri-Wizard Tournament in my last letter? Well, you will never believe this, but someone put Harry's name in the cup! No one believes him but me, of course. Even Ronald is put out about it. So Hogwarts has two champions now, Harry and Cedric Diggory, whom I met at the World Cup. He's quite dashing, but again, I am stuck in little sister status._

_I still get night terrors about that night. Seeing those Death Eaters was terrifying, but nearly being crushed in the ensuing panic was far worse. It doesn't help that I still have trouble sleeping after that cursed diary, even after all this time. In fact, the only time I sleep well is when I am home in my own bed at the Burrow. Perhaps when I return after Christmas, I will bring my own blanket and pillow. Do you think that will help?_

_Your friend,_

_Ginny_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry I haven't written for a while, things have been a bit crazy. Do you remember when I said that I thought Harry might have been a bit of a glory hound? I was really resentful that he'd wrangled his way into the tournament. I mean, it seems as if every year hinges on him, doesn't it? And this year wasn't supposed to be about him at all, was it?_

_Well, I take it all back. Harry had to compete in the first task of the event. I was more than a bit concerned about him when I found out what it was from my brother Charlie, so I had to figure out how to warn Harry when we weren't actually on speaking terms. To my mind, Neville made a complete hash of things._

_But that's all beside the point. After watching what Harry went through, nearly getting ripped apart by that dragon, I figured he'd have to be nuts to have put himself in danger like that on purpose. I'm willing to admit that my resentment might have colored my ability to believe him. I believe him now, and I think whoever put his name in the cup must be trying to kill him._

_We're all staying here for Christmas. We have to attend a ball this year. I've never been to one before. Did I tell you about Fleur Delacour? I must have been out of my mind, but I actually asked her to let me escort her. Thank Merlin, she said no. What would I have done if she'd said yes? I would have had a heart attack and died! She's far too beautiful for me. I wish you were still at school. I know I could count on you to go with me. I mean, you're not overly beautiful, and it's not like anyone else would have asked you, so we would have made a great pair._

_I still have to figure out what I am going to wear for dress robes. Harry's godfather sent him these smart-looking robes, all shiny and new. I have a terrible fear that my mother will send me something ancient and that I will look like a prat._

_Have a good Christmas, and I will write to you soon._

_Ron_

* * *

_Dearest Niece,_

_I received your letter from Molly, and I'm extremely glad you are keeping your spirits up. You must continue to do so. We will get you through these years until your majority quickly, you mark my words._

_I attended a dinner party given by the Weasleys the other day and met the most fascinating people. There was a Xenophilius Lovegood, who told me about the most amazing creatures. I wish I could see one; he described them in great detail. There was also a rather intriguing fellow from Arthur's work, named Mercury Throgsbottom. Arthur told me later that he invited him because of our common interest. Mr. Throgsbottom studies Magical insects. Once he heard of my own studies, we fell into a conversation that in hindsight must have been terribly rude, since we never engaged anyone else in conversation for the entire night. He wants to see my collection; he was most enthusiastic, and I admit I would so like him to see it on the off chance he might recognize one or two specimens as being magical._

_I am at a bit of a loss, however. Obviously I cannot take him to my collection, since he would have to pass through my chambers to get there, and that would be scandalously inappropriate. However, it just doesn't feel right to take my things out of my sanctum sanctorum. I have no idea what I should do. I really would like to share my interest. He is a rather singular man._

_I must sign off. I have an appointment to take tea with the parson and his wife. I shall send your regards to Henrietta. Did I mention Fredrick is in London studying Law now?_

_Also, I want details on this upcoming ball at the school, if your friends tell you anything. Molly was all aquiver about it and asked my advice on Wizarding robes. I am by no means an expert, but even I could discern the robes she was thinking of sending to Ronald were shockingly ugly. They looked like something from the Dark Ages. Did they even have ruffles in the Dark Ages? I hinted that perhaps new would be better, but I fear I only made her more fretful._

_Your loving Aunt,_

_Alice_

* * *

_My Dearest Alice,_

_I am adding this short note to my longer letter to address the issues you brought to my attention in your last missive. I must keep this quick, as I have to go out to church with Grandmother, and then we are having tea with Lady Jesper and her daughters afterwards._

_On the subject of Mr. Mercury Throgsbottom, I have a question, and a bit of advice._

_Firstly, is he handsome? I have a feeling I already know your answer._

_Secondly, move your bedroom. It would be far less scandalous to pass through an upstairs sitting room to access your private collection._

_Love always,_

_Hermione._

* * *

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_Thank you very much for the lovely biscuits. They were absolutely delicious. I savored them as my hidden treat for days._

_I just found out that Ginny and the boys will not be returning to the Burrow for Christmas this year. I remember Ginny saying that she had hoped to bring her own pillow and blanket back to Hogwarts, after the holiday, in the hope that they would give her a better night's rest. Do you think it would be possible to send them to her? I think it would be a welcome surprise._

_I also received a letter from Ron, and he is very nervous about the upcoming ball and what he will wear. I don't know what you have picked out for him as far as robes go, but I think it would soothe his mind to wear something highly traditional. Perhaps something that reminds him of family history._

_I do hope this helps._

_Yrs,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_I could easily hate you. _

_In fact, the only reason why I do not is because Harry and Neville said that I deserved it. _

_I will look like a puffskein that's been caught in a wind storm._

_Ron_

* * *

_Ron,_

_The feeling is absolutely mutual. _

_In fact, the only reason why I do not is also because Harry and Neville said that you deserved it._

_Do have a lovely holiday and give my best to everyone._

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_It was terrible! They put Ron, Cho, Padma and Fleur Delacour's little sister, Gabrielle, into the depths of the black lake! That was the second trial! They could have died! Thankfully, Harry saved not just Ron, but Gabrielle as well. Ron helped get the girl to safety. Viktor Krum saved Padma, and unfortunately, Cedric saved that cow, Cho, that Harry's been making moon eyes at all term. Alright, I don't wish her dead, but I have to admit to a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing him pining after someone who is out of his reach._

_I don't like this tournament. In the first task, the champions could easily have died. In this second one, innocent people could have died. I'm at a loss. What is the point?_

_Defense of Dark Arts is still as terrifying as ever. That Professor Moody is one black character. I doubt even you could defend him. In fact, I am sure you would hate him for his disregard of proper teaching methods alone._

_I must go, I have Transfiguration soon, so I have just enough time to get this letter to the owlery before class starts._

_Yours,_

_Ginny._

* * *

_Dearest Niece,_

_I'm glad to hear that your odious grandmother has caved in to Lady Jesper's not-so-subtle hints that a young lady needs to have accomplishments. I hope you enjoy your painting, and I am very glad to hear you are to be allowed to play the pianoforte. I know you dislike it, but everyone sounds awful at first. I urge you to apply yourself. Once you gain some facility, you will find that music can be rather uplifting and can even transport you away from your cares while you play._

_As for Mr. Throgsbottom, you are a naughty creature with your unsubtle comments. Yes, he is over here rather often, but there is nothing at all improper about it. He is a highly intelligent man and good company. As for your other queries, I'm not sure I should answer them, since you are far too curious, and I fear you will leap to some lurid conclusion. _

_However, I will. He is two and sixty, however, he does not look it at all. Molly has explained to me that Magical folk age much more slowly. He looks to be about forty at the most. He is of short stature and a bit plump. However, he has a fine head of golden hair and his features are fine and nearly delicate._

_He tells me that he is not a very powerful wizard at all, but I cannot say for certain if he suffers from acute modesty or speaks the simple truth. I think the magic he does do is very marvelous, indeed._

_He works as a clerk at the Ministry of Magic, having something to do with population records. When we talk about insects and life in general, we are always of an accord. When he discusses his work, I have no idea what he is talking about. The same is true when I discuss the latest _on dit_ in the village; it is obvious that he is totally at sea on matters of peerage and the rules of Muggle society._

_I will end this letter with an offer to supply you with whatever art supplies or music books you desire. You need only ask._

_Love always,_

_Alice_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Ginny says she's already written to you, so I won't go back over what you must already know. _

_It's terrible. Harry's a wreck. Everyone is. Dumbledore has him up in the hospital wing now. He didn't look too terribly injured, but I fear his heart is hurt the most. It was awful to see Mr. Diggory weeping over Cedric. Even the twins were upset._

_To think, that crazy Professor Moody was a Death Eater in disguise all along. I should have known. He was even worse than Snape, and we all know Snape was one._

_The worst part is that it seems the Minister doesn't believe Harry. It's almost as if no one wants to. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't back, then how do they explain Cedric being killed? How do they explain Harry being cut up?_

_No. Harry's right. You-Know-Who has been a plague upon us since our first year. Only a fool would pretend he's still dead at this point._

_What I cannot understand is why Moody, or rather Crouch, would bother to put Harry's name in the cup at all? I mean, if the point was to kidnap him, then he could have just handed him a Portkey at anytime. Seems rather stupid, if you ask me. Why wait until he had honed his skills during the tournament?_

_I'm afraid for you, Hermione. He hated your kind so much and his Death Eaters are becoming stronger every day._

_For the first time, I'm glad you're not at school. This is no place for you now._

_I will probably wait until I am back home at the Burrow to write again. I wish I could take Harry home with us. It makes no sense that he keeps returning to those Dursleys. I wonder why his godfather allows it._

_Ginny tells me you are learning to play music. I hope you're good. My Aunt Muriel plays the piano, and she's simply awful. _

_Stay well._

_Ron _

* * *

Snape sat at his desk near the fireplace in his room in the castle with his left arm pressed to his chest, as he rocked steadily to try and distract from the escalating pain. He had several small bottles lined up before him and was in the process of filling them with the silvery threads he was repeatedly pulling from his head. When he was finished, he placed them all in a box and, after putting a few extra spells and curses on it, he addressed it to himself.

He filled the pockets of his robes with more little bottles, and then, picking up his package, he headed out of the dungeons and up to the Headmaster's office. He swept in the door and over to the desk and placed the parcel down.

"You are ready then?"

"Yes."

"I will post this straight away."

"That would be appreciated, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave him a long look, and Snape could see the traces of concern, resignation and determination in the older man's eyes.

"Send me a Patronus as soon as you are safe. Good luck, Severus. I have complete faith in you."

Snape didn't reply, he just turned on his heel and hurried out of the office and down to the gate outside. Once past, he immediately spun away in a swirl of black robes.

* * *

The smell of dried blood, floor polish, leather shoes, sweat and fear filled his nostrils as he fell at the Dark Lord's feet. He could hear the excited muttering and derisive sneering from his fellow Death Eaters as they gathered around him, eager for another kill.

"Ahhh, and here we have the supposed traitor." Voldemort's hiss scraped along Severus's spine like a razor. "Welcome, Severus. You're late." There was a scattered laughter at this remark, but it was swiftly cut off. "Your brothers and sisters have been telling me things about you. They say you are Dumbledore's right-hand man now. They say that you cannot be trusted. What do you have to say to them?"

Severus kept his forehead pressed to the floor. "I have nothing to say to them, my lord. I have never had to answer to them. I only answer to you."

"An excellent answer, Severus. And, pray tell, what do you have to say to me?"

"That I have done your bidding, Master. I have stayed at my post these long years, ingratiating myself further into Dumbledore's confidence, on your orders. Dumbledore trusts me completely now. In fact, he seeks to use me as a spy against you. My delay in coming was, to his mind, proof. He witnessed for himself the pain of your call, and yet I delayed coming to you as evidence of my loyalty to him. The longer I lingered at the castle, the surer of me he became."

"And explain to your brethren why this would be pleasing to me."

"Because Dumbledore protects the boy, and he is our only threat. With my access, I can tell you the Headmaster's thoughts, his strategies, and his fears, my lord. They are all here in my mind. You have only to look."

Severus kept himself utterly still as he felt a hand smooth down the hair on the back of his head.

"Oh, I intend to, Severusss." The Dark Lord's voice was very close to his ear. "I shall be most thorough." The hand and the voice went away, leaving abject terror in their wake.

The Dark Lord spoke next from several feet away. "You see? Do you see now? Your petty attempts to cull favor, by turning on one such as he, only paint you has the weak and dull-witted clods that you are. Our Potions master has stayed where I told him to stay. Despite what I am certain was a terrible discomfort.

"Was it painful, Severus? Ignoring my call for hours on end?"

"Yes, my lord. Exceedingly."

"My poor, loyal servant. I shall reward you, never fear. However, first we must deal with your offence. After all… you _were_ late."

Severus just had time to swallow thickly and pull his tongue back away from his teeth, before he was enveloped in agony. He screamed, and on the next cry of _'Crucio!'_ he knew his minor precaution had been useless. He bit through his tongue anyway. He had been too long out of practice.

* * *

The cold steel-blue moonlight slipped through the slight separation between the heavy curtains in the sitting room of Spinner's End. The weak light fell gently on the dust and cobwebs, creating a macabre fairy world where it touched. The effect was set off well by the tomb-like hush. Nothing moved. The draft from the window failed to stir anything but the sad little web of one inept spider, long since desiccated for its poor choice of location.

The dust and spiders were disturbed by the violent crack that echoed through the house. The man that fell to the floor sent up clouds from the tattered and faded carpet. His unintelligible scream was drowned in a wet gurgle as blood gouted from his mouth.

His criess devolved into whimpers that emanated from deep in his chest as he pulled at his tattered robes with shaking, spasming hands. He finally found two of the bottles he'd squirreled away, unbroken. He drank down the contents of both with a high-pitched whine, as the potions stung his already offended mouth.

He lifted his wand and sent a streak of silver light racing out under the front door, and then clutched his wand to his chest. He fumbled in his robes for more unbroken bottles, coming away with several shards of glass embedded in his fingers. He arranged the few he found on the floor next to his head with the labels facing him, then he curled up into a ball and contemplated his victory.

The Dark Lord's skills were magnified by his madness, but Snape's had been even greater. He'd kept his thoughts racing one step ahead of him, even in the midst of agonizing torture. He lived. If he kept his wits about him, he might even live long enough to be useful. He clung to that small flame of hope, as he shook himself to sleep.

It was days before he left the sitting room floor in search of food and water. More days until he pulled himself together enough to bathe. Another week until he made it outside to pick up his post.

After restoring his missing memories, it was only minutes before he fled back home to his wife and family. The sudden revelation of something good in his life, no matter how much of a mind-numbing complication it was, was a much needed balm for his soul.

* * *

Elspeth held her husband tightly in the dark of the night and rocked him gently like a babe. That she was frightened went without saying. It would continue to go without saying. His fear terrorized her into muteness.

He hadn't explained the lateness of his return, nearly two weeks past when he'd been expected. He didn't explain the darting looks out of windows or the jumping at the sound of a closed door. He didn't explain the fact that he looked like he'd dropped nearly a stone in weight or the slight bruising that had still been fading from his face.

He didn't explain, and Elspeth wouldn't ask. If he'd meant for her to know, he would have told her.

She'd first found him in the nursery, holding little Grace tightly, as the child fretted in his arms. She'd known something was wrong right away. He'd never held his daughter before. When he'd seen her hovering in the doorway, he'd given her such a look of raw fear that her knees had gone weak, and she'd had to grab onto the doorframe.

But he hadn't explained any of it. He'd pulled himself together and had been more like himself throughout dinner. Afterwards, he'd closeted himself in his office, going over the household accounts. Then he'd shared a quiet glass of claret with her before they'd retired, as if it was just another evening.

But once the candles had been blown out, he had pulled at her until he was burrowed in her arms, and he'd begun shaking.

That had been his first night home.

The summer had progressed, and he'd settled back into his more normal, reserved self, but for more time spent watching Grace running along on her chubby legs, more patience with Nigel's nonstop questions, and more urgency in his need to get Simon up to snuff on his studies. They'd gone beyond Elspeth's own paltry ability with sums, and Severus had arranged for Simon to spend time with the Vicar to continue his studies at the end of the summer.

There had been three sudden trips, none lasting more than two days, and each and mysterious and unexplained as the rest. Each time he'd returned, he had been irascible and inscrutable.

He had also taken pains to show Elspeth his will. To let her know that everything was settled in her name for the next ten years, in the event that he died. And he told her that if he ever did not return home, she was to assume he was dead and never, ever go looking for him.

She'd nearly fainted dead away from the fear.

Now he would be leaving again in the morning; heading back to Manchester on business before the school year started up again, he'd said. This would be their last night of the summer together.

She knew from what he didn't say that he might not ever come back.

She held him and rocked, as he clung to her and shook.

* * *

And there you have it.


	18. Governance

**AN:** All praise to Hebe GB, who has been a huge presence in this tale. And now back to our orphan...

* * *

"Lady Granger requests your presence in the drawing room."

"Thank you, Charles."

Hermione adjusted her shawl and slipped out of the music room, where she had been stumbling over her scales before the footman had interrupted her.

She entered the drawing room and smiled deeply.

"Dr. Janssen! How lovely to see you! What brings you to London?"

The parson of Ottery St. Catchpole's little village church smiled warmly at her. "Hello, Miss Granger! You do look well. I've come to town to partake in a series of lectures, and there was nothing for it but to bring my wife and daughter as well, so they could visit with Fredrick. We'll be here for another week. Henrietta sent you a letter telling you of our planned arrival, but your grandmother, Lady Granger, tells me it must have been misplaced in the post. I admit I was a bit worried. I knew you to be a sensible girl and not one to be flighty in a matter of correspondence, so I took the liberty of coming here and asking after your health."

Hermione's smile grew even warmer. Bless Henrietta. She knew Hermione wasn't allowed to receive any post, so she must have acted out quite the little drama to have her father come himself.

"I'm fine. How dreadful that I didn't receive Henrietta's letter. I'm terribly sorry to have caused you any concern. Thank you so much for taking the time to come. I am ever so glad to see you."

Hermione sat herself down, with a look to her grandmother, who sat stone-faced, unsure how to react. Lady Granger had the utmost respect for the clergy but preferred they stayed in their own demesne, and one could tell she was a bit lost as to how to be her usual disapproving self.

"And how are Mrs. Janssen and your children?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, Mrs. Janssen is very well indeed. She and Henrietta are settling in at the hotel and then we will be meeting Fredrick for dinner. His studies are going splendidly. I dare say, he was a bit overwhelmed, those first months, but now that he has a feel for it, he's settled into a routine, quite nicely. In fact, I'm hoping you will be able to ask him about it yourself. I would like to invite you and your grandmother to dinner with us one day this week, if I might be so bold."

Hermione's smile turned fragile, and she looked to her grandmother who had remained silent up to this point.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Janssen, but I'm afraid my health has been delicate lately. I must decline. For both of us. Surely you understand that I need my granddaughter close by, in case I should suddenly grow weak and need help."

The parson gave Lady Granger a long, level stare, before he smiled gently. "I had no idea that you were so close to the cusp, dear lady. You look to be in such good health. Of course, tomorrow is not promised, as the book says. I shall, of course, pray for your eternal soul. I know that Miss Granger will be her usually dutiful self. She is a credit to her parents, I'm sure."

The rest of the visit was stilted. Hermione enquired after several people in the village, and what little gossip one could ring from a parson was wrung rather quickly. Dr. Janssen did his best to direct as much conversation as he could to Lady Granger, who managed to steer the conversation toward how grand her home was and how lovely each item in it. Much was made of the quality of the tea served, and Hermione nearly blinded herself to keep from rolling her eyes.

After nearly an hour, Dr. Janssen stood and thanked them for the lovely visit.

"I understand your limitations, madam," he said to Lady Granger. "But I do hope they won't preclude a visit from my wife and daughter? My Henrietta would be grieved indeed, if she didn't have the opportunity to see her friend while we are in town."

"They would be most welcome," Hermione blurted, risking everything on her grandmother's fear of losing face. Alice's campaign against her reputation had reaped dividends and certain doors were closing on the old woman. It was both satisfying and frustrating, given that Lady Granger held Hermione responsible and life in the house had grown even more oppressive.

"You need only let us know the day," she finished with a smile.

"I shall," he replied, missing the way the room had grown suddenly cold. "It was lovely to see you, Miss Hermione. And Lady Granger, I thank you for a most pleasant visit."

He took his leave, and when Charles closed the door closed behind him, it was as if the sun had gone out. Hermione walked back into the drawing room, knowing that to try and avoid the inevitable confrontation, was only to escalate it. She sat down on the padded stool across from her scowling grandmother and folded her hands in her lap.

"That was most kind of Dr. Janssen to stop by," she said, to break the tension.

"When they send their card around, you will decline it," Lady Granger ground out.

"I will not! Surely even you can find no fault with Dr. Janssen's family! I have a right to a friend, Grandmother! I am not a slave! I am not your servant! I only have one more year with you, and then I shall be rid of you forever! You can put up with one more pot of tea at your expense!"

Lady Granger's face went purple. "How dare you! You ungrateful child! I took you in when you were homeless and this is the gratitude I get? You spoiled, willful creature!"

"I dare because I am my father's daughter! He would be shocked and disgusted, if he saw the way you treat me! You shame yourself, madam!"

"You ignorant wretch! You'd be workhouse fodder, if it were not for my charity!"

"If I am such an encumbrance, then let me go live with Mrs. Perthwit! My Aunt would be more than pleased to take the burden of dealing with me off your shoulders!"

Lady Granger's eyes flared with anger. She seemed to swell up and out of her chair. "You are entirely above yourself," she hissed. "You think you have the right to speak to me this way?"

"And why not? You are no better than I! You act like you are so refined, and my father was somehow a failure for not scrabbling up the social ladder along with your other sons! But my father was a fine and respected man because of what he could do for people! What do you do? Hiding in this ridiculous house behind your tea and cakes?"

Lady Granger's face took on a calculating expression. "So you think your father was noble because he served a greater good?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then perhaps it is time to follow in his footsteps, since you think you are already grown."

Hermione didn't like the gleam in the woman's eye at all.

* * *

Hermione stood in the parlor of twenty-two, North Brampton Street and fidgeted with her reticule. She heard footsteps approach and quickly stood up.

A woman of about forty swept in. She was tall and flustered-looking, with a heavy shawl over her rather dour blue muslin dress. She had her hair tucked up under a lace cap and it only emphasized the smallness of her watery blue eyes.

"So you are Miss Granger," the woman said, walking around her and rudely inspecting her as if she were a horse. "I understand you don't have any actual qualifications, however, your grandmother spoke to your character, and I am willing to take a chance, based on her recommendation alone.

"You will start immediately, and your duties are as follows—"

"Begging your pardon, madam—and I am terribly sorry for my rudeness—but I was only told to come here. I do not know who you are, or even why I am here."

The woman stared at her in obvious annoyance for her interruption. However, once she understood the nature of Hermione's words she frowned even more.

"I am Mrs. Penry-Jones. Your grandmother hired you out to me as my new governess."

"There must be some mistake. I'm sure there was a misunderstanding. I know nothing of this."

"You _are_ Miss Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, madam."

"Then there is no mistake. I have signed a contract with your grandmother. I have agreed to a salary of thirty pounds per annum. You are now my governess. A trunk with your things was already sent on ahead. You live here now."

Hermione felt herself grow dizzy and reached out to steady herself on the back of a chair.

"But…"

"There are to be no 'buts,' Miss Granger. Your grandmother hired you out to me. I understand you are sixteen, still a minor for another year. You are obligated to honor her contract with me. Now. If you are quite finished interrupting, I will go over your list of duties and then introduce you to my children."

* * *

Hermione woke up in the little windowless room when she heard the sound of the servants stirring through the thin walls of the attic. She scrambled out of bed and washed herself quickly, shoving the wet cloth under the flannel nightgown without taking it off. It was cold in the room and she wasn't permitted wood for a fire. She pulled off her thick socks and pulled on her heavy woolen stockings, tying them off at the knee. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the nightgown over her head and scrambled into her shift, immediately throwing her warmest muslin dress on over it and her Spencer on over that. She laced up her sturdy boots, and when she was almost warm, she set about untying her night braid and brushing out her hair.

Endless months of being pressed flat with Annie's iron tongs had left her hair a limp, frizzy mess. There was no curl left, and yet it wasn't anything resembling straight either. In fact, she often thought with amusement that it actually looked more like the witch's hair one would see on stage in a children's play. She wasn't so miserable that she failed in seeing the irony. But it was a close thing.

She sectioned her hair off and pulled it back severely and plaited it, twisting it up and pinning it. She glanced at the result in the small mirror on the wash stand and sighed.

Mrs. Penry-Jones had been very thorough in her instructions. Hermione was, under no circumstances, to affect a look that could be construed as attractive. The implication was clear. If any gentleman were to take notice of her, it would be her fault.

If it would have just got her sacked, she would have done it in a heartbeat. But, in fact, the result would also include a heavy fine, which would have made any return to her grandmother unpalatable, to say the least.

Until she was seventeen, she would have no recourse to the law, either.

So she dutifully made herself look as unattractive as possible. To her mind, it took no work at all. The precaution was hardly needed. Major Penry-Jones was away on the continent, from what she could gather. He was an army factotum, there as part of the British Embassy involved with redrawing Europe, now that Napoleon was tucked away forever in St. Helena. The only other man in the household was the gardener, Thompson, and if Mrs. Penry-Jones thought he could possibly be interested in Hermione at his rather advanced age, then she had the active imagination of a sensational novelist.

Hermione pulled a letter out from under her thin pillow, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

She ate alone. Neither a servant, nor one of the family, she fell into the no man's land of invisibility. The housekeeper, Mrs. Morton, was pleasant enough, but distant. The maids and cook treated her with a thin veneer of respect over ill-concealed glee at her fallen state. Governesses were nearly always well-bred young ladies that had been cast out of their level of society.

The family, Mrs. Penry-Jones, and her three unruly children, were new to their money and thus had all the manners and taste of people who had always looked in from the outside, through dimpled glass. In other words, they were too ignorant for their own good, just Lady Granger's sort of people.

She finished her tea and buttered toast and headed to the schoolroom, leaving her letter by the door on a tray as she passed through the foyer.

Once in the schoolroom, she set about getting ready for another useless day of child wrangling.

Her three charges, Bertie, seven, Evangeline, six, and Patricia, five, were utterly unruly. It wasn't just that they had no manners, but they had no concept that they might even need them. Obviously no one had ever disciplined them before.

She was supposed to turn them into little models of decorum without the aid of anything resembling authority. She was forbidden to shout, punish, or even command. She was apparently supposed to 'engage their minds through the use of fascination,' according to the book Mrs. Penry-Jones had supplied her with. The book also gave strict advice on avoiding developing a child's fondness for her, 'so as to not interfere with the natural process of a mother's affection.' That was not a problem. The little beasts barely acknowledged her existence.

The sound of elephants storming the stairwell alerted her to their impending arrival, and Hermione sucked in a deep breath and sighed.

When she was in the mood to be honest with herself, she admitted that as unpleasant as her current state was, it was an improvement over living with Lady Granger, and it had put an end to her useless hours of trying to play the pianoforte.

* * *

She was sitting in the little room off the kitchen, having tea, when she was told that Madam wanted to see her in the parlor immediately. She briefly wondered which of the children had complained about her this time.

"You sent for me, madam?"

"Yes. About this letter you put on the tray. Am I expected to have it franked?"

"No, ma'am. It is to my aunt. She will pay the postage when it arrives."

"Ah. Very well then. It will go out in the mail tomorrow." Hermione smiled and bowed her head before turning away, but madam's voice stopped her. "That is if you have the penny to pay for the paper you stole."

"Ma'am?"

Mrs. Penry-Jones flapped her letter back and forth in the air.

"This paper came from the school room, am I not correct?"

"Yes, ma'am. It was a scrap left over from Bertie's lettering assignment."

"If it was good enough to write a letter on, it wasn't exactly a scrap, now, was it? Your Grandmother told me I had to be strong against what she called your "moral lassitude." You owe me a penny."

Hermione was humiliated.

"I am very sorry, Ma'am. I don't have a penny. I don't have any money at all. However, if you let me add a note to the letter before you post it, then I'm sure my aunt will send me enough so that I could pay you back."

"So you think I should let you steal from me, and then, when you are caught, do your bidding on the off-chance that I will be repaid? What logic is there in that?"

"I will pay you two pennies when I hear back from my aunt."

"I have no assurance this aunt will give you anything. Lady Granger warned me she was a woman of low quality and that I should forbid you from any dealings with her. However, I do not feel it is my place to involve myself in familial disputes and so you may correspond with whomever you please, as long as I am not paying for it."

"Madam, I implore you—"

She frowned at Hermione as if on the cusp of a possible change of heart, only to shove the letter in her own pocket. "No penny, no post."

"Madam, you could take the penny out of my wages."

"I already paid your year's wages to your grandmother when I signed the contract. No. Your letter will be posted, or returned to your person when you pay for it. This conversation is finished. Go back to your rooms, please."

Hermione wanted to explode. She wanted to start shouting and screaming and perhaps even overturn the furniture in a fit of madness. All of her terror and confusion and insecurities surged through her blood in a sudden, vitriolic mixture of emotion. But what purpose would that serve? She would just end up back at her grandmother's, and most likely quickly hired out to the next family on the list.

Instead, she turned and left the room with a barely civil bob in the other woman's direction.

Upstairs in her cold attic room, she cried into her pillow.

It had taken her an embarrassing amount of time to even remember she could send a letter by post. She had grown used to her grandmother burning her letters and then had become far too dependent on poor Errol. It had taken her nearly four days here to try to contact Alice the old way. She'd been so excited.

Now that had failed as well.

No one knew where she was. She was well and truly trapped.

What made her cry even harder was that even her parents had thought this was the life for her. Admittedly, in that last year after they started to make a bit of money, there had been talk of her possibly making a match some day, accompanied by many smiling looks at her father's apprentice, Mr. Townes. Looks that had made her shudder, but there had also been too many whispered conversations before that, about this being her fate, for Hermione not to believe it had always been their intention otherwise.

She railed against it, but even as she did, she felt the weight of inevitability pressing on her. She knew that if she didn't find a way to escape into the Wizarding world when she came of age, eventually she would accept this as her place in life.

That fact made her cry even harder.

* * *

Molly was the first to know something was amiss. Errol came back with the letters he'd been sent with. At first, Molly had thought the silly bird had addled its brains again on another hard landing, but the second time, she began to worry. The third night of returned post in a row, sent her into a frenzy of concern. She Apparated to the rhododendron garden at Otterwold and walked up to the house.

"Terribly sorry to drop in like this, Alice, but did Hermione say anything to you about being away from home?"

"No. In fact, she wrote in her last letter that she hadn't even been able to attend dinner with the Parson and his family. She is very good friends with his son and daughter. It was scandalous."

"I have a feeling something is wrong," Molly continued. "Errol can't seem to deliver the mail. Either she's not there, or she's unwell. I think we should have a quick check on the girl. Would you mind if I took you with me, and we popped over to London?"

Alice looked a little giddy as she nodded her head and ran to grab her pelisse and bonnet, while Molly began transfiguring her robes into Muggle style clothing.

The two women hurried out of the house and toward the chestnut trees lining the drive. Alice smiled like a little girl and wrapped her hand firmly in Molly's as instructed.

They landed in an alley near The Leaky Cauldron, and Alice immediately whirled away from her and was sick.

"Oh, please Lord, make it stop," Hermione's aunt wailed quietly, leaning against the wall of a building.

"We _have_ stopped dear. There, there, deep breaths. You'll be good as new soon. Now, which way?"

Alice gave an unladylike burp and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at her watery eyes.

"Hack. We need to flag down a hack."

"Not a problem." Molly took out her wand and stomped to the end of the alley and held it out. Alice came up behind her just as the Knight Coach pulled up to the curb.

After giving Mr. Shunpike the directions, Alice settled back against the cushions and closed her eyes. "Can we take this back to Devon?" she asked. "I'm really not fond of that Appearing thing you do."

"You must admit it saved time."

"Yes, but not dinner."

By the time the coach pulled up to Lady Granger's home, Alice declared she was back in form and ready for battle.

They stepped down from the coach, both ladies ignoring Mr. Shunpike's blatant flattery, and headed for the door, looking around to see if any neighbors were around.

"Are we clear about the plan?" asked Molly.

"Absolutely."

Molly whispered a spell, tapped her head and began to disappear. Alice grinned at her and then knocked on the door.

A few minutes later, Lady Granger's footman answered the door.

"I'm here to see my niece," Alice said in an imperious tone. The footman let her in, and Alice dawdled just long enough to allow Molly in the door as well.

Molly followed along as Alice was led to another room, looking around at all the marble floors and gilded, well, everything. What wasn't gilded, was covered in mirrors. Molly was no judge of Muggle houses, but after being in Alice's house, this looked tacky.

"Mrs. Perthwit. Why am I graced with your presence at this late hour?"

"Surely this isn't an ungodly hour for you? I know that the fashionable members of the ton, such as yourself, don't even start to go out to their parties until nine or ten o'clock. I was in the neighborhood and decided to pay my niece a visit. Would you be so good as to fetch her for me?"

"She wasn't feeling well. She's retired for the night already."

"Oh! The poor dear! I must go check on her at once. Is her room in the attic with the servants still? Or did you grow a heart since the last time I was here and let her have an actual room again?"

Lady Granger's face took on a truly hideous expression and as the two women set about one another. Molly tapped Alice on the back and slipped up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, and one attempt to call for a constable, found both women back out on the pavement. They strolled down the street together for a while before Molly ended the Disillusionment Spell on herself.

"She's not in that house anywhere. That dreadful woman lied," Molly snapped.

"I didn't need magic to tell me that. We _must_ find out where she went."

"I wish we could ask Severus."

"Snape? The schoolmaster? Or is that a common name?"

"Oh, there's only one Severus."

"Can we bring him here? Can he hex that hag?"

"Be nice, some hags are very lovely people."

"Oh. My apologies."

"It will be some days before I ask could ask him, and I have no idea if he would have the time. To be honest, I don't know if he would have the inclination. He's a very enigmatic man."

"No, he's not. Just tell him it is for Hermione's sake. I have complete faith in him."

Molly looked at Alice as if she'd grown another head, but just chalked it up to more Muggle naiveté.

* * *

Charles adjusted his powdered wig, as he hurried for the door on the second knock, irritated because he'd been in the middle of his lunch. Lady Granger had gone out visiting as usual for this hour on a Saturday, and it was his only time for an uninterrupted meal.

He swung the door open and his first impression of the man on the step was that of a rather fine gentleman. His second was that he was looking at the devil himself.

"Where is Hermione Granger?" the man demanded without preamble.

"I couldn't tell you," he said, affronted. "I don't go about revealing personal matters to strangers at the door, sir."

"But you do know, don't you? Servants know everything."

The man pushed the door open wider and stepped inside while the footman stumbled backwards. Charles felt like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake. He was briefly aware that he should have made a fuss, should have at least tried to slam the door in the man's face. He also had the feeling that he should remember this man with the inky black eyes.

"Last chance, _Charles_. Where is Miss Granger?"

The footman was aware his knees were banging together, as he sucked up his courage and said, "I'm not telling you anything."

The man smiled and Charles almost broke and ran.

"Oh, but you will. You will tell me everything. _Legilimens!_"

Charles wondered why he was standing in the foyer staring at the closed door for no reason while his lunch was getting cold. He walked back toward the kitchen, rubbing his aching head.

* * *

Yesh? Nar? Review and let me know!


	19. Confidence

**AN:** Please forgive me, I am behind on review replies. I will try to catch up. Honestly.

* * *

"Thank you, Severus. That will be all. You've done well, _as always_," said Dumbledore, addressing that last part to Sirius Black, who had been muttering and glowering throughout Snape's entire report.

Severus sneered at Black, as he walked down to the end of the table furthest away from the imbecile and his eternal sidekick, Lupin, and took a seat next to Molly.

He sat down carefully and did his level best not to show his pain. The Dark Lord wasn't pleased with the lack of quality information Snape was passing, and he had been made to suffer for it. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his injuries from Dumbledore. The Headmaster had enough on his mind without Snape adding to the burden, and as much as Severus would prefer a less painful existence, he had a role to play. The truth was, Snape wasn't actually sure how the Headmaster would react of he knew, and he was afraid to find out that it might not actually affect the Headmaster's decisions at all.

Molly poured him a cup of tea, while the other Order members began to pick apart his latest intelligence and then practically vibrated while her need to ask conflicted with her need for manners.

"Yes, Molly. You can stop quivering. I did find out what you wanted to know," he murmured, after he'd had a sip of tea.

She sagged in relief.

"Miss Granger is now employed as a governess by one, Mrs. Prudence Penry-Jones. She resides at twenty-two North Brampton Street, London. There is no foul play involved. She is fulfilling a legally binding contract."

Molly pressed her lips flat, and her eyes grew angry. Severus was surprised at the intensity of her feelings. Surely she had enough children of her own to be upset about? She had already practically adopted Potter and Longbottom. Now Granger? How had that even happened?

"It's not right. The girl has had enough sadness in her life. Now they've just up and put her out to service? There must be something we can do. We need to get her out of there!"

"Molly, until she reaches her majority, you know that there is nothing anyone can do. And if we were to snatch her away from her current situation, what exactly are we to do with the girl? Drag her into this?" He waved a hand at the room full of fellow conspirators. "She's perfectly fine where she is. Her employer is a bit strange, but she's not the villainess you make her seem. It's not as if Miss Granger was starving on the streets. She's in a comfortable home. She's fed, dry and warm, and earning an income. I see no hardship, other than having to wait another year."

To his surprise, Molly stiffened, as if offended. "How can you be so cold and unfeeling? _'Fed, dry and warm,_' as if there wasn't anything more to life? I have no idea why I thought you might help the poor girl. I will never understand you, Severus. I don't know how a person can be so honorable and yet so heartless at the same time. "

He was so shocked that he felt his eyes widen and his mouth pop open to protest, before his ever-present rage reasserted itself and shut him down again. _This_ was his thanks? This was what he got for the risk he'd taken? He'd had to argue with Dumbledore for hours to get permission to even go at all. It had taken forever to convince the Headmaster that he was now capable of hiding nearly anything from the Dark Lord, and there would be little risk. And what he received for his pains was another slap in the face.

He'd thought he'd needed this little bit of altruism. The darkness he faced each day was taking its toll. Every meeting with the Dark Lord felt like it aged him another ten years. He'd leapt at the chance to do one, singular, good deed—to spend just a small moment being the hero he'd thought he'd been waiting to be for all those long years, even if there hadn't been any call for it after all. He'd been pleased to find the girl had come to no actual harm and had looked forward to delivering positive news, for a change.

When would he learn to stop caring?

Molly stood up from the table and stomped over to the stove, and he watched her rattling pots together for a moment before he levered himself up and left the meeting. He would eat somewhere else.

* * *

Elspeth stood frozen in the doorway of the nursery. Only her wide, terrified eyes moved, as they darted in an endless cycle between Simon, who was also pale and frightened, Nigel, who was giggling and shouting encouragement, and Grace, who was making the wooden balls that Simon had carved… _float_. They revolved around each other in mid-air, and no one was touching them.

She stepped inside the nursery and quickly closed the door, pressing her back against it to keep out Violet, the maid, and Mrs. Cropper, the housekeeper.

"Stop it…" she whispered. "Stop that this instant!"

The balls fell to the floor with a clatter, and both Nigel and Grace turned to her with wide, frightened eyes.

"You mustn't do that, Grace. You must _never _do that."

"Yes, Mama," she said as her black eyes filled with tears.

Nigel stepped closer to his sister and threw his little shoulders back.

"I asked her to, Mama. It was my fault."

Simon sat down hard on the chair by the window.

"Have you seen her do such before?" she asked him.

Simon shuddered, and turned his head to her. "I've thought— There were always certain things—"

Elspeth nodded. "A blanket covering her that you were sure wasn't there when she lay down? Dolls in her hand that you don't remember seeing her go and pick up?"

Simon nodded slowly and looked back at Grace, who was now clinging to her brother.

"She's a _good _girl!" Elspeth cried quietly.

"Of course she is," Simon said, standing and patting Grace on the head with a shaking hand. "Time for your nap. You too, Nigel. No more of this… magic, now, alright?"

* * *

_Dearest Niece,_

_I cannot express my sorrow at your misfortune, but I am very, very glad that I can now contact you and know that you are safe. Your whereabouts were discovered with the help of Molly and your old schoolmaster. I will always be in debt to him. I wish I could let him know._

_I will write more when I am not so emotional, but Molly wants to get Errol in the air as soon as possible._

_Hold on, little one. Summer will be upon us soon. Enclosed is a little bit of money for any unexpected expenses and a little something to keep the flame alive. Do your clothes still fit?_

_All my love,_

_Alice_

* * *

_Dear Alice,_

_I am ever so glad to receive your letter, and your funds are greatly appreciated. I admit to having been in very low spirits, and they were made worse when I could not write to you for lack of a penny. I have purchased a small amount of parchment and ink from Mrs. Penry-Jones now, so I should be able to send you letters frequently._

_You must tell Molly not to have Errol wait for a reply, as I do not have a window of my own, and he created quite a sensation fluttering repeatedly into the schoolroom window. It was all I could do to keep one of my charges from trying to catch him so he could learn taxidermy. We will have to make do with my long reply by mail coach and your quick reply by Errol, if he remembers to leave the letters by the window at night and leave._

_Thank you ever so much for sending me my book of Healing Spells. It has become a talisman of the future, and I keep it under my pillow to remind myself that all is not lost._

_I am adapting to my new life much better. I have finally made some headway with the children, and they actually do listen to me now. I had despaired when I first started, but since this is the life my parents chose for me, I have decided to try and make the best of it at least until my circumstances change. My employer has already noticed a difference in her children's deportment, and so she actually treats me with a bit of esteem. She also allows me to read, since she expects me to be knowledgeable, so I have ways of improving my mind. She is not as bad as first impressions made out, and I can even say that my life here is an improvement on living with Lady Granger. I have even made new friends. The other governesses in the area regularly meet in the park, and I have found them to be most welcome company, indeed._

_Thank you so very much for giving the Weasleys my new direction. I have received letters from Ronald and Ginny. They are busy with their school and seem to be up to some new mischief again._

_What has been happening with you? I am several months behind on gossip. How is your Mr. Throgsbottom? I do hope he is still paying you court. Don't try to tell me that is not what he's been doing. I can read between the lines as well as the next. _

_Tell me more about the schoolmaster. How did he get involved in my sad little life again? What did he do? I still suffer from my over-abundance of enthusiasm, so indulge me in this area, if you will._

_As for next summer, sadly, I am contracted until October next, and therefore, am not allowed the time. Hopefully, I shall join you in the autumn. Until then, I urge you to keep my mind occupied with pleasant stories of butterflies. _

_I have enclosed several letters that I have written to you over the last few weeks, kept hidden until I could pay postage, along with my letters to various Weasleys._

_Yours always in affection,_

_Hermione_

* * *

Severus Apparated to the stand of scrubby trees a mile from his home and walked to the cottage.

He knew it was foolish to have bothered coming. He only had a few days to be here and could be summoned at any moment, but he justified the trip as necessity and ignored any further analysis.

He opened the door as quietly as always and hung up his coat, dropped his hat and gloves, and turned to head into the sitting room, only to stop.

"Elspeth?"

His wife stood there with a fearful, yet determined expression on her face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, feeling his face go bloodless.

She stared at him so long he grew alarmed and stepped past her to look into the doorways off the hall.

Elspeth stepped around him and walked into the sitting room and sat down, hunching her shoulders expectantly. "I saw you walking up the lane. Tea is coming. Have a seat, husband."

"I've no time for games, madam. Tell me what the matter is."

"When have I ever played games with you, Severus?"

He conceded the point and walked into the room and sat by the warm fire, as his sense of alarm grew. They waited in charged silence as tea was brought by the maid, who seemed oblivious to the tension in the room.

The sound of running feet presaged the entrance of Nigel and Grace. Both of them ran into the room with squeals of excitement, only to stop just short of reaching him and smiling shyly at him as they always did when he first came home. He looked up and saw Simon slip inside the door and sit down in the nearest chair.

Elspeth and Simon exchanged a look and a nod, and then Elspeth said, "Grace, come here."

His daughter, so much bigger than he'd left her, hurried over to her mother, and Elspeth wrapped her hands around her little elbows and said, "Can you show your father the balls Simon made for you?"

"Yes, Mama," Grace said excitedly. The little girl went to run, but Elspeth tightened her hands around her arms and kept her from going.

"Show him the other way," she ordered.

Snape felt himself grow cold.

"But, Mama…"

"Do it."

"You said I shouldn't anymore." Grace sent him a frightened look. Her eyes were full of a child's never quite suppressed terror of causing their parents not to love them anymore. At least, that's what he thought he saw.

"I'm telling you to do it, this time," his wife demanded in a harsh tone.

"Stop," Severus commanded.

The woman and the little girl froze, and Nigel ran over and threw himself in front of both of them.

Severus sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Come here, Grace."

She immediately walked toward him, but she took Nigel's hand as she passed and brought him with her.

Snape smirked. _Slytherin_

"Have you got a secret, Grace?" he asked.

She nodded her head. "I can't tell anyone. I promised."

He leaned forward until he was face to face with his little girl. "But I am your father. You mustn't keep secrets from me. Would you whisper it in my ear?"

He turned his face to the side, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed into his ear, "I can make magic!" Her arms flew away, and she danced backwards with her hands over her mouth, her eyes full of excitement and nervous worry. She danced behind Nigel again but then quickly bent around him, her glossy black curls bobbing, too curious of her father's reaction to hide for long.

Severus held out his hand and gave her a small smile, and when she danced back and put her little hand in his, he scooped her into his lap. He leaned his head toward her ear, looked directly at his wife, and loudly whispered, "So can I."

Nigel began to jump up and down. "Show me! Show me magic!"

Snape looked up at his wife's heavy sigh, unsure if she was relieved or defeated. His eyes slid over to Simon, who was nodding his head while looking down at his hands.

"I can't. Not in this house. But if you want to get bundled up for walk…"

Grace scrambled down from his lap and chased Nigel out of the room towards the front door.

Simon and Elspeth looked at him. "I shall explain what I can," he said, "but I cannot explain everything."

They nodded, and together they all headed toward the door.

* * *

"So you hid us here so these Dark wizards won't find us? Why don't you stay? If you are in as much danger as you imply, then hide here with us!"

Snape scowled at his wife as they walked across the frozen, stubbled field a mile from their home. "I cannot. I am honor-bound. I have taken a vow."

"But you took a vow to _me!_" she shouted, causing Simon and the children to look back at them in worried concern.

"I know that!" he spat. "And I am doing the best I am capable of! You cannot ask for more, woman! I'm trying to keep you all _alive!_"

"But you aren't trying to keep _yourself _alive, Severus! What good are all your protections if you die?"

"I told you last summer, you are taken care of! You and the children have nothing to fear in that regard. There will be plenty of money. I am a very wealthy man, Elspeth."

"_Money?_ You think I'm talking about money? I'm talking about lo—"

"No!" he shouted. "You don't know what you are talking about, but you are most certainly not talking about _that._ I have too much on my mind already! I cannot have it clouded by overly sentimental foolishness!"

Elspeth stopped and turned to him, anger and betrayal writ clearly on her face. "Was she one? Was she a witch, like Grace?"

"Who?"

"_Lily_," she spat

Severus reeled back as if punched.

"How—?" he gasped.

She stepped close and in a low voice, hissed, "It's never been my name you call out in the middle of the night, husband."

She gave him a look filled with such hurt, before she turned away from him and walked on toward the children.

Simon dallied and stayed back, as they approached an old, dead, oak tree that had fallen over, its roots only half dragged out of the ground.

"Are you sure we can't help in any way?" he said. "Perhaps we could all run to the Continent? I've heard it's easy to get lost there. The Vicar said I'm good enough at sums to get a job as a clerk now. I could help support us until you find another job teaching."

Severus gave him a bitter smile. "I can be tracked," he replied quietly. "I am marked. My magic can be followed like a scent. I cannot escape."

"What about Grace? Is she in danger now that her magic has started?"

"Yes. But I can cover her trail. She will be safe enough until her eleventh birthday draws near. I cannot ask an ally to watch over you all, I don't actually have one. No one must know any of you exist." He stopped and turned to the young man that had already grown so far beyond the little street rat that had reminded him of himself. "When I am gone, it will be up to you to keep them safe, Simon."

"Of course, sir. But is there no hope for you?"

Severus pulled his wand from his sleeve and looked at the dead tree. With a flick, it turned into an elephant, heaving its back leg out of the ground, as the children squealed and danced. Once it was free, another flick turned it into a snow-white, prancing pony, which made Grace clap her hands and start jumping up and down in place. Another flick and it was a table, set with a lavish dinner and glorious candelabra. Another flick and it was a dead tree again that he levitated high up into the air.

Elspeth and Simon were, by this time, also swept up in the wonder of it all, and they were both smiling like children themselves. Snape looked away from them and cancelled his spell, causing the tree to fall toward the ground. His family squealed and started to run, but before it came within six feet, he destroyed it with a powerful Reducto.

A cloud of oak sawdust settled to the ground like snow, as the echoes from the blast rolled across the countryside.

His family looked at him with matching expressions of shock.

Elspeth walked over and placed a hand on his arm.

"I cannot be saved," he whispered. "And there will likely be no body to find. Store up your love for your next husband, madam. He will reward you richly for the honor."

She struggled against her tears and nodded her head with all the dignity of a Baron's daughter. He folded her hand around his arm and began to walk back to the house, casting Warming Charms on all of them.

* * *

His last night at home, when he finally came to bed, he pulled his wife into his arms and whispered, "I am sorry."

She wrapped herself around him and whispered back, "Don't be. You've always done what was right. It has always been more than enough. I just need to know, is your magic the reason why I haven't had any more children?"

"Yes."

She stifled a sob before gulping in a breath and forcing herself calm. "I understand." She nodded her head. "You did what was necessary."

He kissed her gently, and tasted her salty tears.

* * *

Snape moved out of the way to let the odious Professor Umbridge come down the stairs leading to the Headmaster's office.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape. I trust you had an enjoyable time over your holiday? I noticed you weren't gone very long. Three days, in fact. Whatever could have been so important that it brought you back to the castle so quickly?"

He looked down his nose at her and stared, waiting for her to get out of his way. He watched the interesting colors her face turned, as she slowly realized he had no intention of answering her nosey query. He continued to stare at her until she finally turned away, with an annoying little cough and her nose stuck up in the air. He contemplated hexing her, but it was beneath him. Just. Besides, he had far more important things to deal with than that the toad-faced bint. He continued to watch her until she was out of sight and the stairs began moving again.

He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the Headmaster's door.

"Come in, Severus."

He pushed open the door and walked over to Dumbledore's desk.

"Headmaster, I must see the book of future enrollees. The Dark Lord wants a question answered, and I must create a false memory."

"Are your skills such that you can do this now?"

"Yes. I have been doing it all along. I have told you before, the Dark Lord's skills are formidable but not equal to my own."

"And Harry's lessons? Have you been able to teach him any of your admirable talent?"

Snape sneered eloquently. "The boy does not even bother to apply himself. I cannot teach a stone."

"I need you to keep trying, Severus."

"And I shall, but expect no miracles." Snape raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "The book, Dumbledore?"

"Oh, yes. You know where it is." He waved to the corner behind his desk.

Severus opened the book towards the back and quickly flipped through the pages. He paused and ran his finger across the entry that read, "Snape, Grace Elizabeth." He again felt the swelling of pride and damned himself. Everything would have been so much better had she been a squib.

He pointed his wand at the entry and whispered, "_Tergio_."

He schooled his features to bland indifference, as he watched his beautiful daughter's name vanish.

* * *

_Dear Niece,_

_I have some news. As you surmised, long before I did, Mr. Throgsbottom, has indeed, asked for my hand. I know your young heart will make of this a fairy tale, and in the best ways, it is. However, it is one with a darker tone. There has been much ado in the W. World. Fear and paranoia abound, and there is an ever-growing threat to those of our persuasion. Mr. Throgsbottom has asked me to marry him, not just because of his earnestly declared affection, but also because he admits to a previous excess of zeal when discussing me at his work and fears he might have actually put me, and himself, in danger. _

_Arthur has confirmed that this is an actual possibility. Things are very tense at the W. Ministry and there have been incidents. Molly and Arthur are involved in something. He was badly injured around the Christmas holidays, but I do not pry._

_I am at a loss as to what I should do. Mercury says that you are safe, hiding away in your Muggle house. His plan is to take us to Italy, until this storm blows over, and hopefully be home in time for you to be released from your contract. He is very much looking forward to meeting you and asks about you all the time._

_Oh, Hermione. I do not know what to do. I know it seems silly, since our letters will continue as always, and I wouldn't be able to see you before then anyway, but as much as I have come to hold Mercury in tender esteem, I find my heart is very heavy and filled with foreboding at the idea of leaving you alone in England._

_I believe I shall tell him no and hope he asks me again next year._

_Your confused aunt,_

_Alice_

* * *

_Dearest Alice,_

_Do not be a fool, Aunt. Go. Marry your Mercury Throgsbottom, if you love him. You have been denied the happiness my parents shared, and I would very much like to see you so blessed. I will enjoy having an Uncle who likes insects. _

_It will only be until the autumn, surely. I have no doubts the W. World will straighten itself out in no time at all._

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

* * *

**AN**other thing... For those of you becoming confused over Hermione's age, remember that she turned twelve right after starting at Hogwarts. She is almost a year older than Harry.


	20. Demise

**AN:** Hugs to my stressed out, overworked betas. I am nothing without them.

* * *

Snape Apparated back to Manchester and began walking along the canal to the alley. He heard a loud crack behind him and spun around and pinned the short wizard that was following him with murderous stare. He walked back towards the little maggot of a man, his hand vibrating with his need to grab his wand and dismember the pathetic creature.

"There are going to be rules in this arrangement. If you call attention to us, we will be forced to find somewhere else to go. If I have to explain to Dumbledore why I left a home I swore I would never leave, he will become suspicious. If I lose his trust, I am of no use to our lord. If I lose my position with him, I will kill you. Therefore, the first rule is that you will never do anything to call attention to us from the locals. Do we have an understanding… _Wormtail?_"

"Look here, Snape—" That was as far as Peter Pettigrew got before his words were choked off by the hand wrapped around his throat.

"Rule number two: You do not get a say in matters. The Dark Lord doesn't care if you live or die. He is testing _my_ patience and loyalty, not yours. I would kill you now, but it would make me look _impulsive_. I suggest you rethink whatever you were about to say. In fact, I suggest if the urge to speak comes over you at all for the rest of this summer, you should decide it they are worthy last words before you open your mouth. There are so many ways you could die. So many things I could slip into your food." He tightened his hand and cut off the air supply. "I don't even need magic. Remember that."

He spun away, ignoring the foul sensation Pettigrew's silver hand had left on his wrist as the bastard had tried to free himself from Snape's grip.

How easy it would have been to crush the life out of him right there and toss the rat into the canal. Another body floating in Manchester wouldn't even cause a stir. So many ended their lives that way to escape the misery of this glorious new industrial age. So many people died every day with no one to mourn them.

Not Black. He had a legion of mourners.

The fact that the bastard was dead would have brought greater satisfaction if he'd still been guilty of Lily's death. Instead, the bane of his youthful existence had died a hero in everyone's eyes. No one seemed to pay heed to the irony that he'd actually fallen to his death like a clumsy oaf, tripping through the Veil, unable to shake off one of Bellatrix's simplest spells. The man might have been innocent of Lily's death, but he had still been a foul creature, unhinged by Azkaban and obviously drinking too much at meetings.

And Potter, Lily's son, looking at Snape as if _he'd_ been the one to kill Sirius. Just because the pathetic wretch had disobeyed orders and decided to rush to Harry's side…

Snape sighed and stopped before the door to his parents' home. No. Black was free to be a hero in everyone's eyes now. Innocent and worshipped. Snape hated him all the more for that.

He knew _his_ fate was to die the eternal villain of the piece. It was just a matter of when, and how many more things he would have to endure before the time came.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, determined to suffer living with the man that was _actually_ responsible for Lily's death.

He closed the door behind the traitor as Pettigrew looked around the sitting room, now lined with books and journals. Snape had spent most of the Easter holiday making the place look lived in.

He sneered at Pettigrew with impotent rage as the rat pawed at books he was probably too stupid to be able to read. The Dark Lord did nothing without a reason, and ordering Pettigrew to attend Snape for the summer was a trial. If Snape struck down Pettigrew, the Dark Lord would know he still cared about things he shouldn't. He couldn't touch him, but Pettigrew didn't know that, and Snape was going to enjoy the little man's terror.

It might even help alleviate the anxiety that gnawed at him from knowing that if he didn't return to his cottage in Cheshire, his wife would think he was dead.

He couldn't risk a letter; he was under intense scrutiny and knew all of his personal communications were being monitored. His every action occurred under a magnification glass.

He knew it was past time to tell the Headmaster about his wife and family, surely enough time had gone by without even a hint of the truth that Dumbledore wouldn't take it as an act of untrustworthiness?

_Someone_ needed to know about them. He had been checking off his mental list of people he could trust for days and coming up woefully short.

McKenzie was the most logical choice, but Snape knew the Dark Lord had Imperioused agents in the area, and McKenzie was the only known Muggle acquaintance Snape had in Manchester. He would be the first one watched.

Molly Weasley was the next logical choice, but their attitude toward each other hadn't thawed at all since the incident over the lost Miss Granger.

He directed Pettigrew toward the kitchen and told him to familiarize himself with it since he would be spending most of his time there.

He settled himself into his father's old chair and thought about Miss Granger. She would have been a perfect choice if she were only a bit older. She knew him. She trusted him, and she had always been peculiarly loyal to him in a way no one else was. Unfortunately, he could not contact her either. He considered asking Molly to pass along a letter to the girl from him, but his gut clenched at the idea of too many unknown variables. If his letter fell into the wrong hands, he would only endanger yet another innocent.

Miss Granger was better off out of the picture completely. The world had gone mad, and the idea of her off somewhere, safely oblivious, was actually soothing.

The idea of Elspeth sitting by the window waiting for him to stroll down the lane made his chest ache.

* * *

Hermione walked her charges to Greenwich Park as a reward for being so attentive to their Geography lessons. Bertie carried the little boat he'd made, and Evangeline and Patricia walked along carrying a kite that had no hope of getting off the ground in the torpid breeze that wafted around them.

They headed to the Royal Observatory first, and she held the children's toys and let them run wild, as she stood back with the other dowdy young crows that were the usual group of governesses from the area. They had formed a loose coalition of companionship, supporting each other in their mutual frustrations, and offering understanding and advice. The older governesses kept to their own group and laughed far less. Hermione's group tried not to look at them, desperate to believe that they would never end up looking as faded and worn nor cling so tightly to their little shreds of dignity.

Occasionally, one of their number would disappear. Simply be gone. And a new crow would join the group bringing the same children as the vanished one had always brought. There would be only dark rumor and innuendo in her wake, and a deeper fear would set in.

Hermione was much admired for not having any gentlemen in the house she worked in.

"What are you trying to see, Miss Granger?" asked Miss Stephenson. "You look as if you've lost something."

Hermione looked back at her companions and smiled wryly. "I thought I had a happy surprise for us today, but he seems to be rather late."

"He?" squeaked Miss Andrews.

"Yes, a friend of mine from Devon is attending his studies in London, and we arranged to meet here today."

"Oh! How romantic! A clandestine rendezvous!" squealed Miss Parker.

"Hardly clandestine, Mary, with all of us gathered around like pigeons," corrected Miss Price.

"Is that him? The tall young man?" Miss Stephenson pointed and Hermione turned.

"Why, yes!" She lifted her hand and waved, and Fredrick Janssen smiled and took off his hat and waved back, before hurrying over to them.

Fredrick Janssen had grown into quite a handsome young man indeed. He still had his sandy blonde hair and laughing green eyes and had finally filled out his coltish frame. He sported what most people would consider a most splendid moustache, which added to his charm.

"Miss Granger! I have to call you 'Miss Granger' now, since we are all grown up," he enthused, when he reached her. "You look wonderful! I simply cannot believe how long it has been since I saw you last."

"You look wonderful as well, Mr. Janssen."

"Oh, that sounds terrible coming from you. Do call me Fredrick."

"And you shall continue to call me Hermione. Allow me to introduce my friends. These are the Misses Stephenson, Parker, Price, Andrews, Althorpe, Kelly and Rogers. Ladies, this is Mr. Janssen, whom I knew as a boy in Devon, but who is now on his way to becoming a London solicitor."

There was a chorus of 'How do you do' and 'Pleased to meet you, sir' as her friends bobbed quick curtsies. Fredrick backed up a step and bowed gracefully, hat in hand, and set off a wave of titters that drew disapproving scowls from the older women gathered at the other side of the observatory entrance.

"That's a rather splendid boat. Were you planning on launching it?" he asked.

Hermione laughed. "I must admit that I have little faith in its sea-worthiness, but I suspect my young charge will get as much enjoyment out of watching it sink."

"Well, let us not put off the impending disaster at sea any longer. Shall we all go and watch the noble vessel sink below the waves?" The women all smiled, charmed by his manner, and began to call their charges. Fredrick took the boat and the kite from Hermione's hands and offered her his elbow. "Which of these are yours?" he asked, looking at the mob of children rushing over.

"The filthy ones," she admitted, only just noticing how her preoccupation with Fredrick's impending arrival had resulted in a rather negative effect on her duties.

The group headed off towards the lake in a long, noisy procession.

"How are Henrietta and your parents?"

"They're fine. In very good health in fact. I'm hoping to get back to visit with them in August. It will be nice to escape London for a bit. Henrietta is as besotted as ever with Mr. Herbert Carson. I'm not sure the poor chap even knows, but his sisters have thoroughly planned his life's course to include my sister.

"Tell me about your Aunt. I hear that the village was full of joyous gossip that she married again, after all this time, but very sad that she shut up the house and left for Italy. Apparently they expected her and her new husband to have returned already. Have you heard from her?"

"Oh, yes. I get a letter from her every few weeks. She's having a smashing time and is very happy. I know she had expected to be home in the autumn, but I think events are such that she will be in Europe for a while longer yet."

"And what of you, Hermione? I know you must be excited to be reaching your majority. Where will you go? Surely you won't stay here, or with your father's family any longer. Will you go to Italy?"

Hermione laughed. "I think the newlyweds would prefer a bit more time alone. I know they are both older, but their hearts are young indeed, and Alice is new to the less practical side of marriage. She's like a young girl all over again.

"As for me, I will have to make a decision soon. To be perfectly honest, my prospects aren't that good, and I wouldn't be able to stay at Otterwold until Aunt Alice comes back."

"But surely your parents' left you enough for a comfortable living, if a budgeted one."

Hermione looked at him and winced.

"They left me nothing," she admitted, tasting ashes. "I have been living on the charity of my grandmother and my aunt since their death."

Fredrick blushed to the roots of his hair. "I'm so sorry. Forgive me, I should not have pried. That was inexcusably rude. I had assumed that your father's practice had been sold and the money left to you."

"I don't think so. My grandmother was quite clear on the fact that they left me nothing." She lifted her chin. "I am determined to make my own way, Fredrick. I won't live off the charity of others anymore."

Fredrick gave her a weak smile. "Quite right, I'm sure," he said.

* * *

Elspeth pricked her finger on her needle and bled onto the white pinafore she had been sewing for her daughter. She hissed in anger and flung it across the room.

The children, who had been playing quietly in the corner, froze. Nigel took Grace's hand and they tiptoed out of the room, to avoid their mother's ever-present anger.

She looked out the window again. She spent nearly all her time staring out the window now. She turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Simon come in and pick up her abused sewing and bring it back over to her. He laid it on the table next to her.

"I need to go," she whispered.

"He made us promise we wouldn't."

"Damn all that!" she shouted. "What do any of our promises mean anymore? I need to _know_, Simon. I can't go on like this!"

Simon put his hand on her shoulder. "Stop hoping, Elspeth. It's August. He would have come if he could have. We always knew this would happen."

"_NO!_ He's not dead! I would know it! A wife knows these things! He's too smart to die! Look at how he's hidden us away. Don't you think him capable of hiding himself? I need to go to Manchester. I need to find him. He could be hurt. He could need me!"

"You can't go," Simon pleaded. "If you need this thing done, then I'll go."

Elspeth took a deep breath and calmed herself. "No. I need to go myself. You look after the children. If I don't have an answer soon, I will go mad. If you were to disappear as well, it would be the end of me, and there would be no one left to keep them safe."

"Elspeth, he said not to. The danger is too great. What do we do if something happens to you?"

She bowed her head for a moment but then stood up and gestured for him to follow her into Mr. Snape's office. She opened his top drawer and took out his will and handed it to Simon.

"You are taken care of. So are the children. All I ask is that you do not go to my family. They will take Nigel and cast you and Grace aside like rubbish." She reached back into the drawer and pulled out the twenty pound note that always was replaced. She turned and pulled a book off the shelf behind them and opened it, pulling out several more of the same. "I shall take this one to cover my travel. You have the rest of it, in case of emergency. There is over a hundred pounds there. That is enough to last you for a very long time, in case there is a delay in your inheritance."

She looked up at the sounds of sniffling. Simon was staring at the will in tears.

"He adopted _me?_ He gave me his _name?_ What was I ever to him?" the young man said, overwhelmed.

Elspeth reached out her hand and laid it atop his arm, squeezing gently. "You were his proof. He wanted you to grow up to be a better person than he was, because it would show that he could have been a good person as well, given the chance."

"But he _was_ a good person! He was the best of people!"

"I could never get him to believe that. The Good Lord knows I tried."

Elspeth took the folded parchment out of Simon's hand and replaced it back in the drawer.

"I'll be leaving in the morning," she said.

Simon just nodded his head in silence.

* * *

Snape Apparated to the place under the bridge by the canal and walked slowly and carefully along the towpath. He was bone tired and utterly depleted. The energy it took to open his mind to Riddle's scouring, while keeping his secrets running just ahead of him, always left him spent and useless.

The night had started with the meeting with Dumbledore, who again demanded his surety for the horrifying task he'd forced on him. Then there was the sheer amount of magic he'd put into keeping the old fool alive—keeping the curse locked in his hand—until it was the proper time to kill him.

He had again put off mentioning his family to the Headmaster. Dumbledore was ever more careless of Snape's sentiments, and as much as the spy was committed to his task, he didn't trust his mentor with the truth. Dumbledore was becoming irrational, and Severus couldn't predict what his reaction would be if he found out that Severus had such a glaring weak point.

After that, he'd been expected to immediately report to the Dark Lord. The ever loyal sycophant who always went running back to his master with every scrap of knowledge he could glean. Always and eternally replaying that one act that had destroyed the only life he'd cared about.

Snape marveled at the madness that had become his existence. Wishing his end would come already and let him rest.

But he couldn't rest. There were so many other lives at stake.

Hiding his thoughts from his master was easy enough, but just because Severus had grown so much stronger, mentally, than the Dark Lord, didn't mean he could become complacent. One slip, one hint that he even_ knew_ Occlumency, never mind had become a master, and he was a dead man.

He finally gained the incompetent refuge of his house and let himself in. He Transfigured his Muggle clothes back into the robes they were and took off his cloak, hanging it on a peg by the door.

He turned at a sound and found Pettigrew standing by the hearth, wringing his hands and looking deathly afraid. His nose picked up a coppery scent, and he looked down at the faded carpet and saw blood.

"What have you done, Wormtail?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"It wasn't me! You had visitors…"

"Not Narcissa and Bellatrix again?"

"No. Yaxley and Goyle. They came to ask you to make them up some potions. I was in the middle of explaining you were away on our Lord's business, when all of a sudden a Muggle woman walked into the house as if she were the lady of the manor."

Snape looked at the blood on the floor. _So much…_ Panic sent his heart into a wild rhythm that nearly sent it flying out of his chest.

"Who was she?" he demanded. "What happened? Out with it!"

"I don't know who she was. A neighbor! That's all she would say! She was a neighbor, and you owed her money!"

Snape paused, confused.

"What happened?"

"The fellows had a bit of sport. I stopped them, eventually. I kept telling them that it would be my head if we had the neighbors suspecting anything, but they just laughed. Yaxley cut her up good, but she wasn't much of a screamer, so he lost interest. I made them go away, and I tried to do what I could for her, but, well, I'm not much for healing spells."

"Where is she?"

"I put her in your room."

Snape scowled furiously, as Pettigrew blanched and scurried away to the kitchen. He pulled open the bookshelves that now hid the stairs, and dashed up to his room. He stopped dead in the doorway.

"_Nooo...,_" he moaned softly.

Elspeth had been dumped unceremoniously on his bed in her bloody and tattered clothes. He whipped out his wand and cast a Diagnostic Charm, only to find that Pettigrew had indeed healed her surface wounds, but had left her internal injuries untended. Her spine was broken, and her body was filling with what was left of her own blood.

He put up a Silencing Charm and snatched open the drawer of his dressing table. He pulled out the vials of potions that were there, sorting through them as he dropped to his knees beside her. He canceled the Petrificus that Pettigrew had put on her and slid his hand gently behind her head.

She whimpered and opened her blue eyes. They filled with tears that quickly spilled down her cheeks, as she darted a look around the room in terror.

"They're gone. We are alone," he said gently. "Drink this."

She gave him a look filled with fierce joy, deep confusion, and echoing despair. "Your magic can't fix me this time, husband. I'm already so cold."

He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"It is merely for the pain." His words caught and broke in his throat.

She opened her mouth and swallowed with difficulty.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, when she caught her breath. "I was so foolish. I should have obeyed…"

He swallowed thickly. "Why didn't you?" he moaned. "Why could you not have done as I asked? Why disobey me in this one thing?"

She gave him a weak smile. "I disobeyed you twice, Severus. When you told me to give up on you and when you told me not to love you. You were so sure no one would care if you died. I couldn't stand it. I had to come."

He pressed his forehead against her cheek. "Don't leave me, Elspeth," he said softly. "I don't want to be alone again."

As if she hadn't heard him, she said, "I told them nothing. You and the children are safe."

His tears ran down his nose and onto her face. He brought his hand up and caressed her brow, pressing it closer to him.

"Such wonderful medicine you have. I feel so—"

He clenched his teeth together to try and stop the sobs that wanted to tear a hole in his chest to let his own soul out. He pulled her lifeless arm up around his neck and pressed his face against her shoulder, as he lost the battle.

* * *

Severus arranged to have his wife's body sent to her family to be buried in the cemetery at Wrenham Park.

Peter Pettigrew's body was just another bloated corpse found bumping against the locks in the Rochdale canal, minus his silver hand.

The Dark Lord had taken his time clawing through Snape's mind, and in the end, had found him justified in his execution of a mere, lesser minion. It was more than apparent that he'd been hoping to catch Snape with a darker motive than anger at a potentially disastrous security breach, so when he didn't, he'd taken his wrath out on Yaxley and Goyle instead. Not that Snape had completely escaped punishment.

Snape returned to Cheshire and walked slowly toward his house, knowing that she would never be watching for him, again.

He opened the door and Simon and the children came running, stopping still when they saw it wasn't the parent they had expected.

Simon took one look at his face and started shouting, "_NO!_ I told her not to go! I told her not to go! I should have stopped her! Oh, _Christ!_ It's all my fault! I've killed her!"

Severus wrapped a long-fingered hand around the back of the young man's neck and pulled his face against his shoulder, as Simon keened and scared the younger children. The cook, the maid, and the housekeeper all appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking frightened.

"No," Snape said quietly. "The fault was all mine. I killed her when I married her."

* * *

_*Passes around a box of tissues*_

You knew it was gonna happen... Sorry.


	21. Betrayal

**AN:** Extra hugs to Plumbum for being my 1,000th reviewer! Yays! She wins... um... her name in boldtype! **Plumbum**. See? Shiney!

* * *

_Dear Hermione, _

_Your Aunt asked me to send this to you directly on your birthday. I do hope you will use it well. I am proud of you for making it through your ordeal in such good spirits. Your happiness through your own dark times has been a much-needed balm throughout our own as our world seems to become more caught up in fear every day. _

_I am looking forward to your long-awaited return to the magical community, and I speak for both Arthur and myself when I say that I hope you will feel free to make the Burrow your home until your aunt comes back to Ottery St. Catchpole. You know we have the room, and we miss you terribly._

_Enclosed is a little something from us._

_Happy Seventeenth Birthday, dear._

_Molly_

Hermione carefully folded the note and put it aside with the still unopened letters she'd received this morning and the shrunken box that smelled of vanilla and gingerbread. She picked up the long, slender box in her lap and shook it, hearing the slide and thump, and smiling. She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, pulling out her wand.

She aimed it at the ribbon, and then, with a swish and a flick, she said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Her smile faltered when nothing happened. She repeated the spell. Again nothing happened.

She aimed it at Molly's box of biscuits and cried, "_Finite!_"

Nothing.

She flicked the wand, but not even a single sparkle appeared.

Panic filled her and her stomach tightened into knots as she clutched at her wand, only realizing then, that the purring tingle that she'd always felt when she'd held it before was gone.

She swallowed hard and took several gulping breaths but couldn't stop the horrified tears that slipped out of her eyes.

Her magic was gone.

She curled into a ball and cried for hours.

* * *

"Are you sure you're alright? You still look pale dear. You've not looked well for a week," said Miss Stephenson. "You have us all a bit worried."

Hermione put more effort into her smile and replied, "I'm fine. I just miss my family. Some times are harder than others."

"Oh, we all can sympathize and understand that sentiment."

"I can't even remember what half my family looks like anymore," said Miss Althorpe.

This spawned a sudden flurry of how many people everyone seemed to have forgotten.

Hermione listened to the chatter of the other governesses while watching her charges playing with the other children.

"Bertie! No, young sir. That is not how you treat a young lady, remember?"

Bertie dropped the rock he was about to throw at nine-year-old Georgiana Timpson with a muttered, "Yes, miss."

"Hermione, isn't that your Mr. Janssen?" Miss Parker said, pointing.

She looked over and squinted against the sun. "I dare say it is, but he is hardly my Mr. Janssen."

"Well if you don't want him, can I have him then?"

Hermione laughed and said, "By all means, Mary."

She waited until he had reached the group. "Hello, Fredrick! This is an unexpected surprise! You remember Miss Parker? And of course the Misses Stephenson, Price, Althorpe, and Rogers. Some of our usual crowd hasn't arrived yet.

"Ladies, it is a pleasure to see you all again. I came with the express hope of finding you, Hermione. I remember you saying you are usually here at this time. I was wondering if, perhaps, we could have a talk?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose as fast as Mary Parker's shoulders slumped.

"Shall we stroll a little way?" he asked, incurring more pointed looks for his lack of tact. "Forgive me my rudeness; I have some news."

Pointed looks became concerned looks very quickly, and Hermione glanced at her friends with worry.

"All right." She followed him across the grass a little way until they were out of earshot, but still in plain sight of both her friends and the Penry-Jones children. "What is it, Fredrick? Is everything quite well with your family?"

"Yes, yes, they're fine. Hermione, if I told you I had taken a few small liberties with your personal affairs, would you be patient and let me explain?"

Hermione stared at him, confused and none too happy. "I'm listening."

"You see, when you explained to me about your situation when we last met, it didn't ring true with the small amount of information I knew about you from listening to your aunt speaking to my father. So I… checked."

"Checked?"

"I researched your financial situation. To be more accurate, I researched your parents' financial situation, and I found out some disturbing news."

"If you've come all this way to tell me they died penniless, you are a few years too late," she said, snapping her eyebrows down low over her eyes.

"That's just it, Hermione. They didn't. Your parents left you an annuity of seventy pounds a year."

"Seventy…" She pressed her hand against her throat. "I don't know what to say."

"I know it is not a lot—"

"_Not a lot?_ That's enough to live on, if I live quietly and keep things simple. Perhaps somewhere outside of London."

"But there's a problem, Hermione. It has to do with your grandmother."

"Lady Granger?"

Fredrick grimaced and swept his hat off and dragged his hand through his hair. "You see, upon your parents' death, she sold your father's practice to one, Mr. Townes."

"Father's apprentice."

"Yes, the very same. He paid two thousand pounds for his clientele, tools, equipment, and books, as well as his notes and unfinished papers. That money should have gone to you, as his legal heir."

Hermione's eyes widened. "She kept it."

"Yes. Along with your annuity. The trust has paid out every year since their death. Lady Granger has been receiving it on the assumption that she was using it for your upkeep and setting aside the unused portion. However, based on what you told me…"

Hermione's face flushed with color and Fredrick took her elbow and began to gently fan her with his hat.

"I'll kill her," Hermione growled.

Fredrick's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, you can't do _that_. But you _could_ drag her into court. She owes you at least twenty-two hundred pounds, and needs to release your annuity back into your care, now that you have come of age."

"What would that entail? Mrs. Perthwit, I should say, Mrs. Throgsbottom now, has spent hundreds of pounds taking her to court over me and lost every time. Alice could never understand why she always fought so hard to keep me."

"Because you were paying her bills, no doubt," said Fredrick.

"I paid them in _spades_. She's already accepted my salary as a Governess. I shan't have made as much as a penny when I leave the Penry-Jones's house."

"Then you have…"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything is gone. My parents, my friends, my aunt, my money, my m—" Hermione choked off that last word and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'd like to think I was your friend," said Fredrick, obviously stung.

Hermione looked up at him and sighed. "Of course you are. I'm sorry, I was just thinking of how I hadn't been allowed to go to Devon this past summer, or meet you for dinner last year when your family came." She patted his arm. "You are a dear friend."

His smile grew bigger, and she thought he might have actually swelled.

"So what do I do? How do I get my money back?"

"I've already started the paperwork. I hope you don't mind. I would have stopped it, if you hadn't agreed."

"How much is this going to cost me?"

"Nothing. Well, nothing yet. I'm waving my fees, and so far the court fees have been negligible. If it stays negligible, then you won't have to spend so much as a penny."

"Fredrick! I couldn't ask you to do such a thing."

"Oh, please do! You see, you're my first real client. My father said that if I started my career with an act of humility and generosity of spirit, then surely the rest of my career would be blessed. I think you fit the bill rather nicely."

"Oh. Well that works out rather well, doesn't it?"

"Then you agree?" he asked, as excited as the boy he'd been when she'd first met him.

"Yes. Just let me know what I need to do."

"I shall! I will!" His face clouded over, and he said, "I should let you know that although I am reasonably sure that we can get your future competency back under your control, with only a delay of months, there is a strong chance that we cannot recover your lost fortune. I am hopeful, but the law can be a strange and willful beast sometimes and larger fortunes have been lost on a technicality."

"So I might not see any money until I am paid my seventy pounds next year?"

"Correct."

"Thank you. Thank you for telling me all of this, Fredrick. You are a most wonderful friend indeed. And now, I must go and see about how to survive for another year."

"And I shall go and submit my first motion. I will write to you and let you know about each and every step I take and let you know exactly what is happening at all times."

"That will be marvelous."

They parted, and as Hermione walked back to her friends, who were all obviously in an ecstasy of curiosity and worry, she began to form a plan to get her through the next year.

* * *

"Madam, I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time."

"Of course, Miss Granger. Come in. Do sit down. Is it about the children?"

"No, actually, it is about my employment."

Mrs. Penry-Jones dropped her embroidery into her lap and sighed. "Is it that time already? I had rather hoped it wouldn't have come around quite so fast."

"May I take it from your reply that you are happy with my service?"

"I am! Of course I am. And the Major is as well. He writes me such comments after he reads my letters. I do hope he will come home someday soon. I fear the children will be married and parents of their own, and he will only have read it in my letters."

Hermione found herself willing her employer back onto the subject at hand. Once she got started on the missing Major Penry-Jones, it could take hours to cajole her into speaking about anything else.

"Madam, would you be interested in retaining my services for another year?"

Mrs. Penry-Jones came back from wherever she'd been very quickly.

"You don't want to leave? Of course I would! Why, just the other day, Bertie gave me a bow when he came to say good night. This time last year I would have had to pluck him off of the chandelier." She narrowed her eyes. "I would have bet the Major's pension that you would have been out of here like a cannon shot as soon as your last day was finished. What's changed? If I may inquire?"

"My fortune, actually. You see, my grandmother has squandered my inheritance and left me penniless."

Mrs. Penry-Jones stared at her as if she had just broken wind. One simply didn't discuss such things. But once one did, it became the most delicious gossip. Madam's eyes started to glitter, just as Hermione had hoped they would.

"But surely not penniless? After all, there is the thirty pounds I paid. She must have had that set aside for you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. I can tell you quite assuredly that Lady Granger spent that, along with the two thousand pounds my parents left me."

"Two thousand… Good heavens, child. That would have been enough for you to hire me to work for you!"

"Yes, but I probably won't ever see a penny of it. I have a Solicitor who will be doing his utmost to restore my future competency, but that is a mere seventy pounds per annum. And I won't see it until my next birthday."

"An entire year away. You poor thing! What a scandal! And to think! I actually thought myself grateful for her society! Whatever is she doing with all that money? Especially when you add it to the money her husband left her."

"I couldn't say madam. But it does make one wonder if she has some terrible vice, or perhaps it is left over from her upbringing. She was a merchant's daughter, after all."

"Was she? I had no idea! Why, she's no better than I am! And she always put on such airs!"

"Indeed. In fact, I think I shall go and pray for her. Clearly, there is something terrible troubling her soul."

Mrs. Penry-Jones clutched at her throat. "Of course, dear. If you feel you must. What a kind soul you are. I dare say that were I in your shoes, I would find it very hard indeed to have a charitable thought about the woman. You are a paragon, Miss Granger. Go. Go to your prayers. I will find my copy of the old contract and have a new one drawn for another year. And I dare say, I shall pay you the funds directly. I must say, the Major thought it passing strange to pay the wage beforehand and not quarterly. But I was taken in by Lady Granger's apparent knowledge and missed the greed rotting her core. You cannot go an entire year without a wage again. I will see to it."

Hermione bobbed a curtsy and gave her a grateful, meek smile. When she turned away to head for her room, her smile turned feral. Regardless of whether or not Hermione ever saw a penny of her money, Lady Granger's reputation, already damaged by Alice, was now well and truly destroyed. That would hurt her far more than anything else Hermione could think of.

Hermione had to find a way to carry on with her life without magic, and if she had to go _through _her grandmother to secure a future, so be it.

It occurred to her that a true Gryffindor would have confronted the woman directly and demanded her money, but that avenue would lead to certain failure and a loss of face. No, when it came to matters such as this, society left all women Slytherins.

Aunt Alice would have been proud.

* * *

The next year was one of the most difficult yet in Hermione's young life.

As predicted, they failed to recover any of the lost money, but they did manage to gain control of her future funds. Lady Granger became a pariah in society, shunned by even the most grasping society. Hermione heard from all three of her uncles and two of their wives, begging her to let the public know that the rumors and innuendo about the baronet's widow were baseless and false. She had been only too happy to disabuse them of their assumptions. Eventually, Lady Granger found herself shunned by her own family, in order for any of them to survive the scandal.

Alice's husband had been correct about the danger they had been in. Death Eaters attacked, Otterswold, and it was burned to the ground Christmas night. Only old Mrs. Crabtree and Pete had still lived in the house while Alice was in Europe, and both of them managed to escape unharmed. However, the stables burned as well and the horses weren't as lucky. The Dark Mark had burned brightly in the sky, according to Molly Weasley, and the Ministry had needed to Obliviate thirty-two locals.

Alice was inconsolable. Hermione tripled the number of letters she was writing, after her still-unmet Uncle wrote to her begging her to provide some sort of distraction. He sent her a Portkey to bring her to Venice, but Hermione had been unable to use it without her magic. She still hadn't told them it was gone.

Everyone assured Alice that when sanity was restored, the Ministry would pay to rebuild her property, but only Hermione and Mercury understood that Alice had lost something far more important to her than a big, rambling house. She'd lost years of passionate devotion to her hobby. She'd lost her anchor. She'd lost her sense of self.

Hermione's letters from her friends at Hogwarts were increasingly sporadic, as Ron, Neville and Ginny became swept up in still more chaos involving Harry Potter. It seemed like every day the Wizarding World spun closer and closer to absolute chaos. They were too busy to write to her as often, and she didn't mind. It was easier to just let them go.

Fredrick was a balm through these troubles. Mrs. Penry-Jones allowed them to meet regularly to discuss Hermione's case, and even when that was done, he still came by every few weeks for tea.

The worst event that year, by far, was that one fateful day. That one letter from Ginny, gripped tightly in a shaking hand. That one singular instant when Hermione's life spun wildly out of control and everything she thought she understood about the world was shattered.

Professor Snape had murdered Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione would never have believed it if Ginny hadn't sent a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. There, on the front page, had been a picture of Professor Snape, eternally looking into the camera and sneering in contempt. The articles were full of his history as an avowed Death Eater and how he was now the most wanted man in the British Isles. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. There had to have been an explanation. Even with the evidence in her hands, she'd been unable to make herself believe that the man that had done so much for her could ever be so evil. She just couldn't.

She _wouldn't_.

She'd run to the kitchen and thrust the paper into the stove, quickly followed by her wand, as the servants had watched her hysterical weeping with concern.

She'd claimed illness and locked herself in her room, curled up in bed, clutching a small book of Healing Spells with the words, '_From the Library of Severus Snape_,' printed in a spidery hand inside the front cover.

After that seminal event, Hermione turned her back completely on the Wizarding World. What had it ever done for her? She withdrew from everyone: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Ronald, even Alice and her husband, trapped in a foreign land, afraid to return home.

Hermione concentrated instead on her duties, her small circle of frumpy young crows, and the occasional company of a certain young man, always there with another tale of his growing legal career.

When her year was up, she renewed her contract with Mrs. Penry-Jones for another.

* * *

I'm still limping along trying to catch up on reviews. I really need to work on that there efficiency thang.


	22. Release

**AN:** A nice bit of Simon awesomeness as a reward for your patience with angst.

* * *

Severus Snape lay on his back on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and felt his life's blood flow out of the hole torn in his neck. The sound of footsteps scurrying away told him that he had, at last, discharged his final duty to that long ago girl with the green eyes.

He'd taken what precautions he could, drinking an antivenin of his own creation just moments before facing his last Master and chasing it with a powerful healing draught for good measure. It was a race now. Would his precautions take effect before he bled to death? Before the venom paralyzed his lungs? He could feel himself dying at the same time as he could feel himself healing. He had no idea which he hoped for. He only knew that he could have wished for a better place to struggle in silence. The irony was offensive.

It occurred to him that he was free now. Finally free. He had spent his entire life desperately in love with Lily, and he was terribly glad to be done with it now. Loving Lily had been so very difficult.

He pushed aside the green eyes and called up the blue. Would he see her again on the other side? Would he be allowed to, where he was going? Most likely not. He had not done well by her.

He'd been so convinced of the rightness of his actions. So convinced that she would be the one to survive and, given her practical nature, survive well, indeed. He had hummed that tune over and over to justify withholding all that she had really ever wanted. To be loved.

Only the tune went horribly off-key in the end. She had died because of him, just like Lily, and Severus had been left alone again.

No. He hadn't done well by his wife at all.

He felt a tear slide down the side of his face and into his ear, a sensation he detested because of the flurry of childish memories it brought back.

He missed her.

It wasn't the same all-consuming grief that had fueled his life for the next decade when Lily had been killed, but then he had never allowed himself the same level of devotion. He'd kept his feelings so very compartmentalized that he'd not even been aware that he'd been slowly tearing his wife's heart out whenever he'd made love to her. Except for that last night.

What a fool he'd been. Now that the day was finally done, he found he'd missed the point completely.

Such fierce devotion to a girl who had never loved him. Such callous disregard for a woman who had.

And what _was_ the point? To end the tyranny, that he had helped create in his stupidity, by willingly allowing himself to be tyrannized? To atone for a sin that somehow now seemed lesser than the one he had perpetrated on poor, loyal Elspeth?

He wished he could go back in time and love Elspeth instead. He would resign from his job, throw over his foolish priorities, and watch his daughter learn to walk and talk and climb the fucking stairs. All the things he'd missed, chasing after the children of his enemies.

She was so beautiful, his Grace. Such a delicate little thing. And Nigel. Nigel, who was as Gryffindor as the day was long, never hesitating to throw himself between his little sister and harm.

And then there was Simon, a Hufflepuff if ever there was one. Simon who had made him so very proud. Had he ever told him? Did Simon know that Snape loved him too? No. How could he? None of them did. He'd never said the words. He'd only said them once in his entire life, and Lily had laughed in his face and told him to stop playing games.

He'd been mortified.

That was no excuse.

In the twenty months since his wife had been butchered, he'd grabbed at every pretext, every rationale, and every opportunity to run home and check on his small family. Headmasters had a lot more freedom than teachers; Snape took full advantage of it. Simon held it all together well enough while he was gone, but Snape made sure he was home for at least an hour once a week.

But he never told them he loved them.

Simon could probably still hold it together once Snape was gone forever, but he didn't want him to have to. They were already so sad. He didn't want his little family to get even smaller and sadder.

He wanted to tell them he loved them. Even if it came out awkward and humiliating, at least they would know.

When he felt the nerves in his arms burning, a signal of returning control, he shifted his hand slowly, gurgling at the pain, and clumsily reached into his robes. He fished his fingers past the ever-present bottles of various potions, and found the small, hand-carved, wooden ball.

Wrapping it tightly in his one hand, and gripping his wand with the other, he waited for his throat to heal just a little more. When it did, he rasped, "_Portus_."

* * *

Simon was working on the books in Mr. Snape's office, totaling up the latest accounts, when he thought he heard a noise from the master bedroom behind the wall.

No one should have been in there—Mr. Snape had made it off limits to even Violet, the maid—but occasionally, either Grace or Nigel would still sneak in and crawl into the bed, when they missed their mother the most. Simon always made it a point to go and sit with them. He closed the ledger and headed off to investigate.

He opened the bedroom door and peered into the gloom. Mr. Snape always kept the heavy curtains pulled tightly shut since Elspeth had died, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw the bed was empty.

"Grace? Nigel? Come on, show yourself. You know your father doesn't want you in here."

He was beginning to wonder if he was hearing things and turned to leave, when he heard a sound that caused him to go absolutely still. There, just audible above the muted hubbub of the kitchen, was the sound of breathing.

"Enough of this now," he snapped. "This is not the place for games. Come out of here at once!"

He came around the bed and nearly screamed in fright. Mr. Snape was lying on the floor.

"Oh, _Christ!_ How long have yeh been lying here?" he cried, his language regressing from the shock. He whipped open the curtains and revealed the man was covered in blood. He fell to his knees and scooped his arms under Snape's body, nearly dropping him as he struggled to move him off the floor. Mr. Snape was heavier than one would think.

Once on the bed, he arranged the pillows behind his head and shoulders and began to peel away the sodden and ruined cravat. He pulled out his pen knife and cut it parts still intact, pulling the material apart and revealing the terrible injury. Mr. Snape had been badly mutilated. There was so much blood that Simon nearly gagged.

Even as he watched, he could tell that the very edges of the ragged wound were closing.

Magic.

Of course, the man always had his magic draughts.

He started searching for pockets in the voluminous robes. "Where's yer bottles?" he said, as he patted at the black robes. "C'mon, Mr. Snape, sir, yeh always had yer little bottles." He was growing more frustrated as he pulled at the fabric, hearing them clink but unable to locate a way to get at them. "How the hell can yeh function, man? Runnin' around in black bed sheets all day like a drunken Gypsy?" He finally used his knife. Isolating several bottles in a bulge of fabric, he cut a hole, pulled them out, and read the labels.

"I don't know what Antivenin is, but Healing Draught is clear enough." He pulled the cork on one of them and tilted the comatose man forward with a hand behind his head. "Of course, I can't exactly rub yer neck to help you swallow, now can I?"

He placed the vial on the table next to the bed and began slapping at the patient's face.

"Wake up, sir! _Wake up_. Come on, man, I need a little help here." Frustrated, he picked up the vial again and dribbled a small amount in Snape's mouth and then poured more of it on his torn throat.

Snape moaned softly and began to thrash weakly.

"Stings a bit, yuh? Good. At least yeh can feel."

Simon heard a small gasp and looked over to see Grace standing at the foot of the bed.

"Grace, I need you to go and ask Mrs. Cropper for some water and bandages and some candles as well. Can you do that for me? And I will need clean rags."

"Will he die, Simon?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"I don't know, love. But I do know he doesn't want to, or he wouldn't have come home. Go. Ask Nigel to help you."

She turned and took off running, calling, "Nigel! Nigel you must help! Papa's hurt!"

Simon continued to dribble the contents of the small bottle into the man's mouth, constantly pleading and begging for help. Whether from the injured man on the bed or the Almighty wasn't clear even to him. Did God answer the prayers of witches and wizards? Snape had assured him that they had no truck with the Devil; all of that had just been an excuse to persecute their kind, so perhaps a bit of prayer wouldn't go amiss.

Soon enough the thunder of feet in the hallway announced the arrival of the entire household. Simon twitched a fold of fabric over the wound. At the rate it was healing, there was no sense in letting anyone know how bad it was on the off chance it was gone by tomorrow.

"What's all this about the master— Oh, goodness gracious!" Mrs. Cropper hurried over to the bed with a pitcher of steaming water and placed it down. She pulled a pile of rags from under her arm and placed them on the bed next to Simon. "What happened?"

Violet, the maid, started to light candles from the taper she had brought and headed off to fetch even more.

"He's taken a bad fall. Hit his head and cut himself. I found him outside."

"I didn't hear you at the door."

"You must have been busy." He looked around the housekeeper to the cook standing in the doorway. "We'll need a good broth and some liver, I think."

"Right you are, Mr. Simon, sir." The cook left, but not before giving Mrs. Cropper a long look and a quick nod.

The housekeeper began rolling up her sleeves. "Don't lie to me, boy. You think you keep your secrets all nicely wrapped, but we're not as blind as all that. We know there have always been mysterious doings in this house. I've been praying for the master these long years, afraid he would come to a bad end."

Simon gave her a level stare, trying to decide how to handle this new development.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. We're still here, aren't we? And we've kept our silence, if not amongst ourselves. He's a good man, for all that I think he's probably damned to hell, and he pays well enough. Now budge over and let me see what we're dealing with. Miss Grace, fetch me the bowl from the dry sink. Mr. Nigel, get his boots off, if you will."

Simon, faced with his own lack of skills in healing, moved out of the way.

* * *

Severus woke up and couldn't move. He opened his eyes in panic and thrashed, only to hear mutterings and sleepy complaints. He held himself still and took stock of his situation, as memories played out like a melody in the background. He turned his head, slowly due to the pain, and what must have been the worst cravat he'd ever tied, and saw his Grace was on the bed next to him with her little hands wrapped tightly around his left arm. Nigel was lying across his legs. Simon was in a chair next to the bed, bent forward until his heavy head pressed down on Snape's chest. He snored softly.

Snape let out a shuddering sigh and pulled his daughter closer against his side and wrapped his arm around her. He draped his arm across Simon's neck and placed his hand on Nigel's head before drifting back to sleep.

* * *

"I am _not_ eating _that_."

"Yes, you are. My old mam used to say, 'Blood for blood, yeh got to eat what yeh lost. So eat yer bloody liver and shut up.'"

Snape looked at Simon holding a plate of quivering flesh and raised his eyebrow.

"I was just repeating what my mother said. Sir," he added.

Snape raised a weak hand and pushed the plate away. "I appreciate your concern, and I am honored that you would invoke your mother's healing on my behalf, but I assure you, there is no way I am going to eat that unless you cook it first. I'm a wizard, not a vampire."

Simon scowled and set the plate on the table. "Are there such creatures?"

"Of course. But, as usual with these things, they are not what Muggles make them out to be. They're poncy little things that are useless during the day. Staking them is almost ridiculously easy, since they use nearly all their energy just to flutter like fops. They live in a perpetual state of anemia. Which, by the way, I do _not _suffer from, so you can take your _bloody liver_ and cook it properly for lunch."

Simon smiled, and detected a hint of an answering smile in return.

"I'm glad you pulled through, Mr. Snape."

A long, pale hand reached over and clasped his own, blunt-fingered one, and Snape said, "Simon, if you're not comfortable calling me Severus, then you can think of something more to your taste, but I would appreciate it if you would stop calling me Mr. Snape. You are as much a son to me as Nigel."

The both of them grew uncomfortable, but Simon tightened his hand around his mentor's and blinked furiously, as he nodded in reply.

"So when do you go back?" Simon asked, desperate to change the subject.

"I don't. It's over."

Simon smiled and squeezed the hand he still held, wrapping his other around it for good measure.

"That's it? You won?"

The man's eyes clouded. "I have no idea if we won or lost. I was left for dead on the side of the page as the story played out. I do know my part is over, and I have no wish to return to see which side was victorious."

"But what if it was the Dark wizards? Aren't they evil?"

"Yes. And if they do cause harm to the Muggle world, I will rejoin the fight, I'm sure. But until I see the Dark Mark hovering over our village, I'm not going anywhere. To hell with them."

"But what about your magic? Will you still not use it here? Won't you miss it?"

"We'll see, boy. We'll see. Right now, being a Muggle sounds rather pleasant."

Simon shook his head. "Speaking as a Muggle, I think you're daft."

Severus glowered at him and then squeezed his hand and let go. "Be a good Muggle and go have Cook wave that by the fire a time or two," he said, with a gesture at the liver.

Simon smirked and got up from the side of the bed, picking up the plate. "Right away, your Wizardship."

* * *

"Excuse me, Miss Granger. The Mistress says you've some visitors waiting in the parlor."

Hermione looked up from the stack of drawings she'd been sorting. "I do? Is it Mr. Janssen?"

"No," the maid replied. "It's a lady and a gen'leman."

"Oh? I wonder who they could be. Thank you, Martha. I shall come straightaway."

She dropped the stack on the little table, pushed in the three small chairs, and patted at her hair to make sure it was more or less in place.

She headed downstairs from the schoolroom and encountered Mrs. Penry-Jones in the hallway, pacing in a small circle. When she saw Hermione on the stairs, she hurried over and clasped her hands.

"Hermione, dear, your guests are in the parlor. They wouldn't say who they were, and I find that rather alarming. Therefore, I will hover outside the door. You need only raise your voice, and I will come in a thrice. Or better yet, keep the door open."

Hermione grew increasingly alarmed. "I shall do just that, Madam."

She stopped before the parlor door and smoothed down her dress, taking a steadying breath in the process. With a nod to her employer, she pulled open the door.

She saw a man, of middling years, a bit stout and a bit short, but with thick, blonde hair and rather pleasant features. He looked stiff and uncomfortable, but when he saw her, he smiled warmly and turned to look behind him, revealing the woman sitting on a chair.

"Alice?"

Her aunt stood up slowly, twisting a lace-edged kerchief in her hands. "Hello, Hermione. I'm sorry for the mystery, but I wasn't sure you would see me if you knew beforehand, and I didn't want to give you the chance to turn me away without at least seeing you were well."

"Oh, Alice. I would never turn you away!"

The two women struggled with tears, and Alice came over and wrapped her arms around her niece.

"I wasn't sure. I thought you must hate me, since I've not heard from you in nearly a year."

"No! No, I've… Oh, no, Alice. I've been making my own way in life, that's all. There are so many things I should explain. Let me ask for some tea and we can sit down and have a proper visit. You must be Uncle Mercury," she said to the man hovering near her aunt.

"Indeed. It is a great pleasure to finally meet you, Hermione."

Hermione pulled out her own handkerchief and scrubbed at her eyes. "And you as well! Tea, let me fetch some tea." She spun on her heel and hurried out into the hall.

"I heard. I've already sent for some. Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, madam. Alice is my mother's sister. She's been on the continent for the past few years, and we lost track of each other. I'm very sorry you were caught up in this little drama. Thank you so much for your concern."

"Think nothing of it, dear. I'm glad this little drama has a happy end. Go visit with your aunt. Martha will bring you some tea."

Mrs. Penry-Jones turned and headed off to the drawing room, and Hermione headed back into the parlor.

She sat down by the table and an awkward silence descended on them all, lasting until the maid brought in a tray of tea and cakes.

The ritual of tea opened a door, and finally Mercury Throgsbottom leapt into the breach.

"So tell me, young lady. Are you in good health? I must say you look very well. Your aunt did such a fine job of describing you that I find you exactly as I pictured you."

"Thank you, sir. I am very well. And I agree about Alice's descriptive skills, you look just as I pictured you, as well. Although, I never pictured you in Muggle clothes, I must admit."

He laughed. "I never pictured myself in them either, but your aunt insisted, and I do everything she asks without a quibble."

"Nonsense," Alice butted in. "He's been quibbling about the itch all morning. He's never been exposed to starch before."

Hermione laughed. "I supposed you have more efficient ways to keep your shirts in line," she said to him with sympathy.

"Just so," he replied with a nod and a wink.

"Tell me what you have been doing the past year," blurted Alice. "Are you happy? What happened? Why did you stop writing? Molly tells me that you no longer correspond with Ginny or Ron, either, outside of birthday greetings and Christmas notes."

Hermione sighed and sipped at her tea. "I just couldn't. I can't." She nodded to Mercury. "Your world is closed to me now. The reminders of what I have lost are too painful. I've had to forge a new life for myself, and I think I've done well. I am valued for what I do and paid more than the average. I have made a place for myself."

"What are you saying, Hermione?"

She set her teacup down with care and gathered her thoughts, trying to find the best way to explain. "I'm a squib now. That which I had before is gone."

Alice and Mercury shared matching expressions of horror.

"What happened?" Mercury demanded. "What did you face that left you utterly drained? And why did you not tell us about it?"

"Nothing happened. From what I can only guess, _years_ of nothing happened, and it just went away. I found out when Molly sent me my wand. I couldn't use it at all."

"Perhaps it was defective!" her uncle blurted. "Go and fetch it!"

"I burned it."

Alice gasped, but Mercury reached into his sleeve and pulled out his own, handing it to her. "Go on, give it a flick," he urged gently. "I'm not a very powerful wizard, so I don't think anything too terrible will happen."

Hermione took the wand, feeling nothing from it, and swished it in the air. As expected, nothing happened. She handed it back with a sad sigh.

"We should get her to St. Mungo's. They will be able to do something, I'm sure," he said to his wife, who was crying into her hands.

"No," said Hermione. "It's best just forgotten. As I said, I've made a new life."

Alice wiped at her eyes and nodded furiously. "Yes, I understand. I'm so proud of you, dear. You have done what you could for yourself and no one can fault your actions." Alice sniffed mightily and wiped at her eyes. She lifted up her chin and gave Hermione a determined smile. "I shall support whatever you decide."

"Yes," Mercury said quietly. "Whatever you wish, of course."

Hermione smiled sadly at the look of repressed horror on his face. Obviously, Mr. Throgsbottom was a man of vast empathy, and he felt her loss keenly.

"Thank you. It is not as bad as all that, really. I have a good position and no small number of friends and acquaintances. I recovered my competency and live in such a way as to be able to set aside a vast portion of it. If I stay here for a few more years, I will have enough to set myself up quite comfortably when the children are grown."

"But surely you will come to live with us now?" Alice blurted. "You don't have to work anymore, my dear."

"I haven't had to work for these last two years. I want to. I have found a place. I have made a life for myself. I cannot live on anyone's charity anymore."

"But it wouldn't be—"

Hermione raised a hand to forestall any further words on the subject. "I am content, Alice."

Alice raised her eyebrows and then nodded. She sipped at her tea and then gave her a brittle smile. "Tell me; is this new life soon to include a certain, young solicitor? I ran into Mrs. Janssen yesterday when we returned to inspect Otterwold."

Hermione smiled shyly. "I suppose that is an eventuality. We have an understanding, but no declarations, as he is still trying to build up his career."

Alice's expression fell, and she looked long and hard at her niece. "Suppose? Eventuality? You're settling, aren't you?"

"Fredrick is a very good man, and I esteem him highly, aunt."

"Esteem him—" Alice pursed her lips and looked away, struggling to make good on her promise to support Hermione's choices. "As long as you know what you want, then. But what about sharing your secrets? What about—"

"I have no secrets to share. Only a past that is better left there."

"There's more to life than magic, Hermione," Alice said with asperity. "I found my own happiness for long years before I met my Mercury."

Hermione's temper flared. "And meeting him, was it worth losing your home, your horses, and your life's work?"

The room went silent, and Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm so sorry," she rasped. "I didn't—"

Alice held her hand up. "Don't apologize. I'd rather see you lashing out in anger than full of this numb acquiescence you've displayed since you entered the room. Yes, Hermione. It was worth it. All those other things can be mourned or replaced. I would lose it all again, ten times over, to be able to keep my husband. And until you can say that about a man, think long and hard about your decision."

Hermione looked down at her lap and nodded.

"I'm glad you're happy, Alice. I really am. I know I must seem bitter and ill-tempered, but it is how I have managed to stay sane. The loss is too great. The pain is overwhelming. I cannot even think about magic without wanting to collapse to the floor and weep."

"Well, that certainly gives us an answer to that," Mercury said to his wife.

"To what?" Hermione asked.

Alice sighed and hung her head.

"We had hoped you would want to come with us to the Victory Ball."

"Victory Ball? The war is over then?"

"Yes, love. I'm sorry, we're saying this all backwards, aren't we? That's why we've come back. Voldemort has been utterly destroyed by your Harry Potter. The Death Eaters are no more."

Hermione pressed her hand against her pounding heart. "And Professor Snape?"

"Molly told us that everyone thought he was dead for months, but he turned up as furious and intimidating as ever when the Ministry officially declared him dead and tried to confiscate his Gringotts vault."

"Did they arrest him?"

"Of course they did, but he was released right away. The evidence was rather overwhelming."

"I'm not following you…"

Alice gave her a look and then her eyes flew wide in understanding. "He was innocent, dear. Our Professor was as steadfast and loyal as we always knew him to be."

Struck dumb by the news, Hermione collapsed forward and pressed her face against her knees. Innocent. He'd been found innocent. Two years worth of pain, constantly tamped down in order to keep functioning, exploded out of her like an infection that had finally been lanced. She began to sob.

Alice dropped to her knees before her on the carpet and wrapped her arms around her as she cried.

"He was part of the reason you turned your back on everything, wasn't he?"

Hermione nodded, too overcome to try and speak.

"I understand; he was your hero. It must have been terrible to believe he was guilty."

Hermione sat up and scrubbed at her face. "I never did!" she blurted through her hiccupping sobs. "He's _still _my hero. It was awful that no one had any faith in him. The magical world just seemed too cruel and heartless to me. I wanted nothing more to do with it."

"Perhaps you _should _come to the Victory ball. Maybe you can tell him that," Alice said.

"Will he be there?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Mercury added. "They _are_ honoring all of the heroes, but there are a lot of people who still think of him as a blackguard. I know I wouldn't want to go, if I were in his shoes. However, I agree with your aunt. I think you should come, if only to put a cap on the inkwell, so-to-speak, if you do chose to turn your back on them all."

"Perhaps I shall, at that," she replied.

* * *

Next up: A glance across a room. Yup.


	23. Belle

**AN:** Love and hugs to my worthy team. They really are working crazy fast for y'all.

* * *

"A ball? Well, of course I shall let you go! You've never taken a holiday, and you've been here—dear me, how long have you been here?"

"Almost three years, madam."

"Heavens, I don't know if I should say, 'that long?' or 'only that long?' You've become such a part of our household, and yet it seems like only yesterday that I was pretending I knew what a governess did, and you were pretending you weren't going to immediately throw yourself from the roof."

Hermione covered her smile with a hand.

"Oh, no sense pretending, dear. I could tell you were miserable. I only wish I'd had a better idea of what you had been through. I wouldn't have been so beastly. Well, we both know that's a lie. I'm terrible in new situations. However, what I _am_ good at is picking out ball gowns. Do let me come with you to the dressmakers, dear. It would be ever so much fun. And I can have my hairdresser make a special visit that night!"

"Oh… No, madam, I couldn't ask you to go through all that."

"Nonsense, your hairstyle is perfectly suitable for your position, but, my dear girl, this is a _ball._ You simply _must_ look your best!"

Hermione gave her a brittle smile. Her hair had taken so long to recover from her grandmother's lady's maid. She would be crushed if it ended up a frizzled mess again.

"If you insist," she said.

"I do!"

* * *

"What do you think, Hortense? She's almost nineteen, and I do get so sick of all that virginal white at these affairs. Can we not show off her eyes? Play with color just a touch?"

"Oh, Prudence! That would be marvelous! What about…"

Hermione watched the seamstress and Mrs. Penry-Jones dive into a stack of silks with growing alarm. The colors were getting richer and deeper and more inappropriate with each squeal of delight.

"Honestly, ladies. I do appreciate your superior knowledge in such matters, but I won't do your efforts justice. I haven't seen any of these people in years. Most likely no one will even remember me, outside of my Aunt's small circle of acquaintances."

"You said it was an awards ceremony and ball at your old school, isn't that so?" Mrs. Penry-Jones asked from around an armful of silk organza.

"Yes, but I was never very popular, and I had to leave that school after my second year. When my parents died. I've only kept in touch with about three people since."

Both women looked at each other with faces reflecting matching euphoria.

"_La Petite Pantoufle de Verre," _whispered Madam Rousseau.

"_Oui_," agreed Mrs. Penry-Jones.

"_Qu'est-ce?_" asked Hermione.

"Why my dear girl, have you never heard of Cinderella?"

"Is it a fairy tale?"

"Of course!"

"Then, no."

Madame Rousseau turned to Mrs. Penry-Jones and said, "This is very special. We must bring in the heavy artillery. I think the pale topaz silk with garnet net."

"Absolutely," her employer replied, making Hermione wince.

* * *

Hermione sat still before the mirror and stared. Mrs. Penry-Jones had donated her own dressing room for the occasion, and her hairdresser had come and gone in a whirl of activity, stopping at the last minute to add a puff of powder and a dab of kohl, waving off Hermione's offered guinea for the time and expense.

"Madam has already taken care of it," she'd said before she'd packed up her things and dashed back out of the room.

There had been some discomfort, but nothing like what she'd dealt with every week she'd lived with her grandmother. Most of the pain had been her swiftly diminishing eyebrows. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the result.

She was beautiful.

She was incredibly beautiful.

Her brows flew in graceful gull-wings above her eyes, which usually just looked brown, but now looked like honey. Whatever barely noticeable artifice had been used was as effective as a glamour. Except it was far more real. Her eyes looked enormous.

Her hair was a high pile of glossy curls, threaded with warm-gold satin ribbon and dotted with silk roses made from some of the shimmery, garnet satin from her gown as well. She had long, soft curls trailing down the back of her neck and framing her face.

Her gown was of a warm, honey-colored silk, woven with a geometric pattern from knee to floor that was only apparent when it shimmered in the light. It was cut shockingly low, and Hermione was swiftly growing fearful that a hiccough would be disastrous. Atop this, was a long, open-front pelisse of the sheerest muslin net, dyed a deep garnet and shot through with gold threads. It was trimmed with garnet satin that reflected a deep, blood red by candlelight. It had sheer, Juliet sleeves that ended in a modest satin ruffle around her wrist. Her matching garnet slippers had already dyed her toes red, but who cared?

Hermione had to laugh. She did indeed, look beautiful, but had she been headed to any other ball but a Wizarding one, she would have been an utter scandal. Single women simply didn't wear colors or fabrics this… _sensual_. She blessed Mrs. Penry-Jones' lack of manners and Madame Rousseau's instinctive knowledge of what was flattering, despite acceptability. She didn't give a fig for acceptability. She felt beautiful, and no one at the Ministry ball would have a clue about Muggle convention anyway.

With a last look in the mirror, she stood up, picked up her beaded reticule, and headed to the parlor to await her aunt and uncle's arrival.

"Oh, Hermione!" cried Mrs. Penry-Jones when she saw her coming down the stairs. "You look enchanting. Surely you will catch the eye of every eligible bachelor at the ball!"

To Hermione's dismay, the woman pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her watery eyes. "You must remember every detail. I will wring you dry for information when you return home tomorrow. _Significant_ detail, mind. I don't want to hear what the other women wore. I want to know how green their faces turned."

"I shall, madam."

"Come. Join me in the parlor for a glass of claret. We must steady your nerves for your big debut."

* * *

The Knight Coach came to a stop in front of an unassuming building in the heart of London. It had magically extended itself inside, and Hermione had found there were almost a dozen wizards and witches in the coach when Uncle Mercury had helped her onto it. She'd smiled sadly at this reminder of how wonderful magic could be. Everyone had been able to fit in, with room to spare.

Mercury climbed out first and turned swiftly to offer his hand to his wife. Hermione had to smile at how attentive he was. It was apparent to anyone who even glanced at the couple that they were very well suited, indeed. Alice stepped down gracefully and stopped to smooth a fold out of her husband's deep blue robes, which matched her own, before releasing him to offer his hand to help Hermione.

Hermione stepped down carefully, fearful of some last-minute disaster that would rend her gown, and the three of them moved out of the way of the other passengers.

Alice fussed with Hermione's gown, unnecessarily, and sniffed loudly. Mercury handed her his handkerchief again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I'm making a spectacle of myself, but you just look so beautiful in that delightfully scandalous gown. I so wish your parents could see you now, my dear."

Mercury put his arm around Alice's shoulders and shushed her gently. "They can, dear. They can."

Hermione smiled at the pair of them and together they followed the line of brightly dressed witches and wizards to the innocuous-looking door at the side of the building. They joined the queue, and when it was their turn, the three of them opened the door and stepped inside a tiny room. Mercury tapped on the small box on the wall and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Mercury Throgsbottom and guest."

The front of the box dropped open and three small tokens fell into a dish. He scooped them up, and offered his arms to his wife and niece. Just as Hermione wrapped her hand around his elbow, the floor seemed as if it dropped out from under them.

Both women screamed, and Mercury pulled them closer. "You're fine, dears. You're fine. It's a lift. Like a magical… What was that thing in the hotel, love? The gadget Arthur was so fascinated with?"

"The dumbwaiter?"

"That's it, exactly!"

"That's not reassuring, dear," Alice said in a tight voice.

The room seemed to stop, and when the door swung open, Alice nearly dragged Mercury off his feet as she fled the oversized dumbwaiter.

They entered into an enormous atrium with Floos off to the side that emitted a constant stream of richly dressed people.

In the center of the Atrium was a large fountain with a massive pedestal in the center of it. There was no statue on it, though. Beyond the fountain was an orchestra, its beautiful music swirling around the cavernous ceiling and echoing back down to the gathering below. Thousands of candles floated above and fairy lights glittered everywhere. Tables were set with sparkling crystal and translucent porcelain, and arranged around a good-sized dance floor.

A happy shout drew their attention, and Hermione looked up to see Molly and Arthur Weasley rushing to their side. Molly looked wonderful in her original robes of deep orange, and Arthur was smashing in his formal robes as well.

"Hermione! I cannot tell you how excited I was when Alice told me you had agreed to come. And look at you! You're just like a princess, you are!"

She pulled her into a warm hug, and Hermione clung to her. She had been so afraid of her censure. She sniffled and dug into her beaded bag for a handkerchief, as she tried to control her mouth long enough to get an apology out.

"None of that, dear. Alice has told us all about your changed circumstances, and you have nothing to explain. We've all been through a dreadful time, and I'm only sorry that you weren't spared your portion of sorrow as well."

"I'm so terribly sorry about Fred. I wish I had known. I must have seemed so callous, not sending you a note."

Molly blinked and nodded several times, and Arthur placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I will tell you truly," she said. "I wouldn't have noticed if you had. I still haven't opened most of the condolences that we received. This is the first time I've left the house to go anywhere but the market. I might not have come to this either if it wasn't for my children being honored.

"But enough of that. Tonight we will be happy, won't we? You must come and sit with us, do. The children are all sitting with their friends, and we will have the table to ourselves, with room to spare."

* * *

Several young men were gathered around the champagne fountain when Ron, Harry and Neville walked up to refresh the drinks for their girlfriends.

Cormac McLaggen reached over and clouted Ron on the shoulder. "Just the gentleman I was looking for. Tell me, my good man, who is that beautiful creature walking with your mother over there? And how soon could you introduce me?"

Ron turned and narrowed his eyes. After a moment, they flew wide. "Bloody hell, I think that's Hermione!"

Harry and Neville turned and watched the beautiful young lady in the exotic robes being seated next to Ron's mum.

"Hermione? You mean Granger? From our second year? I thought she was dead," said McLaggen.

"Don't be a bastard. It was her parents that died," snapped Neville.

"I thought she was ugly," mused Seamus Finnigan from the other side of him.

"Well she's certainly not dead, and she's certainly not ugly," said Dean Thomas.

Ron quickly filled the two glasses in his hands and hurried back over to his table.

* * *

Hermione was sitting quietly, nervously fidgeting with her reticule under the table when Molly patted her on the arm and gestured to her left. She looked up and saw Ron making his way over to their table, practically dragging a pretty blond girl who looked vaguely familiar but was wearing so many cosmetics it was hard to place her face.

"Oh, heavens. He's not going to be angry with me is he?" she whispered to Molly.

"Not at all. I've explained that things have been difficult for you, though Arthur and I have kept the nature of your issues to ourselves. No one is upset with you."

"Who is that with him?"

"That's Lavender Brown, dear."

"_Ohhh…_"

"That's just what I said."

She straightened up and smiled brightly as they drew near.

"Hello, Ron. Lavender! I almost didn't recognize you. It's been so long."

Ron offered Lavender the only empty seat at the table and then loomed over them both.

"Hello, Hermione. It's good to see you. You look…" He turned so pale his freckles stood out, and he turned to his date. "Go on, Lavender, tell Hermione how she looks." His cravat bobbed as he swallowed.

"You look beautiful, Hermione. And those robes are wonderful, you must tell me where you bought them. I know they didn't have anything like that in Madam Malkin's. I scoured that store for hours just to find this simple thing." Lavender gestured to her light pink, silk robes. They were heavily embroidered and dusted with sparkling white stones throughout. They must have cost a fortune. "But I had to look my best for my Ronnikins when he gets his award, now didn't I? And your hair! I just love it! What spell did you use, you must show me!"

Hermione's eyes grew wider, and her smile a little strained as Lavender launched into a full-blown storm of feminine inanity that rose in both pitch and frenzy. She darted a look at Ron, whose face had flushed a bright red.

They were saved by the arrival of Ginny and Harry, and Neville and another girl Hermione didn't recognize.

"Hannah Abbot," whispered Molly.

Hermione squeezed her hand in thanks. She stood up and hugged Ginny, who had actually teared up a bit.

"I can't tell you how excited I was when Mum told me you were going to be here," Ginny said. "I'm just so sorry that things became so crazy these last two years that we lost touch. I should have written to you more, but the last year was especially dreadful. We couldn't use the school owls to get a note to anyone."

"That's terrible! I'm sorry too. My life also became a little strange, but nothing like you faced, from what Molly has just been telling me. I only found out recently that it was all over, and I'm only learning the details tonight."

"Come over to our table where we can all sit," said Harry. "We can all catch up there."

Hermione looked over at her aunt and Molly to find them shooing her away.

She followed them back to their table, where she found Luna sitting with a warm, expectant smile on her face. They embraced, and Hermione sat down next to her to catch up on as much as she could, while leaving out as much as possible.

Her old school friends had made her feel welcomed and accepted, and she would prefer to leave pity out of the equation.

* * *

"So you haven't got a bloke?" asked Ron, as they danced a lively country dance together. His voice was higher than normal.

"Muggles don't have the same arrangements as you do, it seems," Hermione replied. "This concept of having girlfriends and boyfriends is really quite different."

They spun away with different partners, Ron with Lavender, and Hermione with Neville, who apologized for kicking her foot when she made a wrong move, before handing her back off to Ron.

"So I'm still not clear. Have you got a fellow? Or not?"

Hermione grimaced in confusion. "Yes? I'm not sure I understand your question. Are you asking if I'm betrothed? No. But there is a gentleman that I am considering marrying. He's still working on his career, and so he is not able to ask me yet. He's very nice, and we meet for tea regularly every three weeks."

Ron looked at her with the same look of confusion before they spun away from each other.

"So let me get this straight," he asked when they were back together again. "You drink tea with the chap every three weeks and based on that, you're going to spend the rest of your life with him?"

"Well, we do more than just drink tea.'

"Ahhh…"

"We have meaningful conversation, as well."

"…eh?"

They cycled through another series of moves without saying a word. When Neville handed her back again, Ron started up again.

"I know I've gone beyond rude, but have patience with me here, I'm trying to understand your customs. Have you even kissed this fellow?"

Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair.

"I'll take that as a no. Have you ever kissed anyone?"

"Ah… no? That's just not the way things go in my world."

"You can't even _kiss_ until you're married? I wouldn't survive."

"Well, girls sneak kisses on the sly all the time, but not governesses. We don't have the same opportunities. Do wizards and witches kiss often?"

Ron nodded his head as his eyes became intense for a moment. They slid down to her lips. She felt her entire body fill with warmth, before he blurted, "Oh, look! The music's stopped! Lavender? Where are you off to?"

He practically fled the dance floor, and Hermione darted back to the safety of her aunt and uncle, unsure of what exactly had just happened.

* * *

"Why are you not dancing?"

Hermione looked up as Luna sat down next to her with two glasses of champagne punch and handed her one.

"Two reasons actually, I need to catch my breath, and I don't think I am up for a waltz. It's considered a rather scandalous dance for us Muggles. I'm not sure I could actually make myself dance it without scraping the floor with my jaw."

"It's really not a big deal for us. The waltz was invented a hundred years ago by a wizard named Gaius Dumetread as a way to traverse a room without crushing any innocent Bloopsparrens."

Hermione blinked several times and then turned to her friend and smiled. "I've missed you, Luna. I truly have."

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "And I will continue to miss you as long as you continue to say 'us Muggles.'"

Hermione blushed. "It was a slip of the tongue. I've been away a long time."

"You are only as away as you want to be, Hermione. Oh, look! Here comes Cormac to stare at your breasts again. Not that I blame him. You have lovely breasts. I think I will go and ask Ron to dance."

Hermione gulped down the rest of her punch and dashed off to find the facilities and hide her flaming face.

* * *

"So you and Harry are 'together?' I'm still trying to understand this concept of Wizarding relationships. It's so strange compared to what I am used to."

"Yes. We've been together since his fifth year, but he set me aside when he went traipsing through the woods with Ron, looking for Horcruxes. After the battle, he told me he couldn't be without me any longer. He wants to marry after I finish Hogwarts next year."

"Oh, Ginny, that's wonderful news! I'm ever so happy you finally made your boy to notice you. You deserve a medal for patience!"

"Don't I know it! Although, I wasn't very patient. I did date Dean Thomas for a while. He was very nice, but too controlling. I think he could tell I was in love with someone else anyway." Ginny's face became sad. "I think I'm even more sad that you had to leave school, now that I see Ron."

"What do you mean?"

"He's utterly smitten with you. Can't you tell?"

"Er, no? Are you sure? He's hardly said two words to me for the last hour."

"That's how I can tell. That and the way he keeps staring at you when you're not looking, and the way Lavender is staring daggers at you right now. Don't look! She'll know we were talking about her!"

Hermione took a sip of her wine and tried hard not to turn her head and look.

"It's a shame, really," continued Ginny. "If you and Ron had managed to find a way to get together, maybe I could have had you for my real sister."

Hermione scrunched up her face. "I don't know, Ginny. We fairly drove each into the madhouse when we were in school. I'm really not sure we would suit each other, although I will admit I find he's grown very handsome."

"I will be sure and _not_ tell him that. He looks close to tossing Lavender through a Floo already tonight. I'm not sure he needs to know that little bit of information. I hope you've made him see Lavender in a new light. I don't think I could stand her as a sister in law."

"Surely he won't 'undate' her just because he saw me again?"

"Oh, I hope so. But I fear Lavender would find something more precious to him than his heart to break in return.'"

"Ouch."

Both young ladies dissolved into laughter.

* * *

Hermione was dancing a set with Cormac McLaggen again, and he was rudely dancing with her décolletage, when a ripple of voices raced around the room, growing louder, before falling silent. The orchestra squeaked to a halt as everything grew hushed. Hermione looked around the dance floor, confused, until she turned in the direction everyone was looking.

There, scowling furiously by near the Floos, stood Severus Snape.

Hermione's stomach seemed to turn in a circle as she saw her Professor again after all these years.

Never a handsome man, he still managed to look terrifying and magnificent, as he stared down the assembled gathering. He looked incredibly elegant, in his white cravat, tied very high up his neck, and a black waistcoat and trousers under the soft folds of his black silk jacard robes. Crisp white cuffs finished the look with sophistication.

His gaze swept across the room, and when his eyes touched hers briefly, she felt it like a physical caress.

Hermione started toward him as if pulled by a string and only barely registered the indignant, 'Hey, where are you going?' behind her.

* * *

HA! Caught you! I said you'd get a glance, and you got a glance! Greedy little things. Now, go back up there and read the parts you skipped over…


	24. Bête

**AN:** And now, the moment you have waited for... Okay, one of the moments.

* * *

Severus stood his ground and faced them all down. Each and every bloody one of them. He was furious. He had been coerced through the crudest means to be here, despite nearly begging Shacklebolt to spare him the indignity. The new Minister had been convinced that Snape's attendance would be a feather in his cap, since the Wizarding world had been full of endless speculation over his whereabouts for months.

Now it was apparent to even the dimmest wit that he had managed to ruin the gala simply by showing up.

He could see Kingsley muttering hurriedly to McGonagall, who looked furious, before the Minister turned, squared his shoulders, and started across the room.

Snape's attention was distracted by a woman making her way in his direction. She was strikingly beautiful, her face almost luminous with joy as she gracefully wended her way through the staring crowd.

The closer she came, the more confused he grew. He actually stepped to the side and looked behind him to see who she might be looking at with such obvious pleasure. There was no one behind him. In fact, there was no one around him for a radius of ten feet.

It occurred to him that he might be the butt of an especially elaborate jest. Throw the beautiful woman at Snape and watch him act the fool, now that everyone knew how he'd spent his life in love with a dead woman.

His blood started to boil.

As she drew closer, he stared into her eyes, looking for traces of deceit on the surface, ready to tear her apart when he found them. He was disconcerted to find none. He couldn't read her thoughts at all. Whoever she was, her Occlumency skills were both formidable and blatantly obvious.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Professor Snape! I'm so pleased to see you again after all this time, and looking so well! I have heard only a little of your ordeal, and I am ever so glad that you have made it through and in such obvious health!"

He was thoroughly flummoxed and unsure of exactly what to say. She was a very good actress. He decided to play along and see if he could discover the nature of her directive. He smiled as politely as he could, fearing it was more of a grimace.

She really _was_ rather beautiful in her Muggle gown. It occurred to him that it had been a very long time since he'd even noticed such things.

"Thank you, Miss…_?_"

Her face clouded just a little, just enough to make her disappointment look quite fetching. He wondered how far she would be willing to take the ruse. He might be inclined to take it very far indeed.

"I'm sorry. How rude of me. Of course, you don't remember me. Why would you? I was only a student for a little while. I'm Hermione Granger."

He blinked several times, feeling as if he'd just been tossed into the Black Lake in mid-winter.

"You were my teacher before—"

"I remember you, Miss Granger." He pitched his voice for her ears alone, and as expected, several people stepped closer to overhear. "I remember you rather well. However, I must admit, I did not recognize you at all, a slight for which I feel I must apologize. I somehow hadn't realized you'd… _grown._"

He realized his words bordered on uncouth and scowled. How had he ended up so wrong-footed when he'd only just arrived?

"Oh, I completely understand! It has been years, after all. There's really no need to apologize! In fact, don't even mention it!"

"If you insist," he replied.

She beamed at him, as if proud of his snippy response, and suddenly he recognized her every feature. He could never forget the way she had of smiling with her whole being when she was proud. He'd always found it highly disturbing. It was no less so now.

"It's lovely to see you again, Miss Granger," he said quietly.

"And you as well, sir," she replied, with her honey-colored eyes shining brightly.

They both looked up as another woman, older and blonde, but still striking, made her way past the crowd and over towards them, with a wizard following closely behind.

"And this is your aunt, I believe. Mrs. Perthwit, if I recall correctly."

"Mrs. Throgsbottom now. She remarried. She found herself a wizard," she added as an aside.

"Did she now?" He bowed his head slightly to the woman who was a paler version of a future Miss Granger. "Mrs. Throgsbottom, a pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Snape. I am so happy to see you all in one piece. I never managed to thank you for finding my niece for me all those years ago, and I would have been sorely distressed if you had met your end without knowing how deeply grateful I've been all these years."

"It was nothing, madam," he said, realizing he was more uncomfortable with their positive attention than the negative attention beyond them. He almost jumped when Miss Granger touched his elbow.

"Professor, this is my uncle, Mercury Throgsbottom."

The older wizard thrust out his hand, and Snape stared at it for a moment, before relenting and shaking it.

"Pleased to finally meet you after all this time, Mr. Snape. My ladies have been singing your praises for years. I fear you have quite the little group of admirers, here."

"Do I?" Snape asked with a look around the room. He was aware of how the three of them had formed a bulwark between him and the rest of the crowd.

"Well, I did say little," the man said with a laugh. "But you can count me amongst them."

"How lovely," Snape drawled.

He looked up to see Molly and Arthur Weasley and felt his stomach drop. Arthur reached out his hand, and Snape shook it without hesitation.

"Weasley. My condolences. I regret that I didn't hear of your loss until much later."

"I understand you had a lengthy bit of convalescence to get through yourself, Severus. George did appreciate your letter. The later timing was probably fortuitous."

"Is he here?" Snape asked in a neutral voice, hoping the lad wasn't. He wasn't sure he would be able to handle seeing him disfigured, knowing that his twin had died in the final battle. He still felt terrible guilt about slicing the young man's ear off.

"No. We rose to the occasion to see our children honored, but it was too much for George. He's still in a bad way, but each day finds him a little better."

"Indeed. I have found the same is true for myself. I also would have forgone the pleasure of tonight, had I been allowed to by this man here. Hello, Shacklebolt." He nodded to his tormentor.

"Snape, my good man! Come, come, I have people I want you to speak with!"

Snape looked beyond the Minister and saw Potter smiling at him like a fool. He sighed heavily. Potter had been instrumental in negotiating Snape's release, and now he was in his debt.

Molly leaned in and said, "We have an open chair at our table. Please join us when you get the chance."

"Thank you. I just might do that," he replied, before allowing Shacklebolt to drag him away.

He looked over his shoulder once more at Miss Granger, trying to reconcile the child she'd been with the woman she was now. How did time move so very fast?

* * *

Hermione was a nervous wreck. She found herself constantly replaying the few short sentences she'd shared with her Professor and was thoroughly convinced she'd made a spectacular fool of herself. He'd looked at her as if she'd had two heads when she'd told him who she was. She was utterly humiliated.

He was gallant enough to say that he had remembered her, but it had been patently clear that he'd had no idea who she was at all. He'd probably forgotten she'd even existed until she threw herself in his face.

She had returned to her seat with the others and smiled throughout whatever conversation they had spoken about, while wishing she could evaporate.

A bowl of soup appeared on the plate in front of her, and she sighed. Good. Dinner was starting. She could now stare at her plate without looking demented, and perhaps she could have a break from all this damned dancing. She was flattered by the attention, but she thought she had quite enough details for Mrs. Penry-Jones and would be just as happy sitting for the rest of the night.

"Is this place still open?" said a deep voice next to her.

She looked up with a squeak, as Molly responded with a gracious welcome. Professor Snape sat down next to her, and she thought she would faint. No one noticed her distress as a second round of greetings was exchanged.

Conversation was stilted and strained, as there just didn't seem to be many safe topics of conversation, and no one wanted to bring up anyone else's tragedy.

Finally, Snape looked across the table and simply said, "What do you do, Throgsbottom?" and turned his attention to his soup.

Mercury leapt to the fore, and immediately began to chatter in a self-deprecating manner about his previous work as a records clerk, and his new work, restoring all the records and statistical data that had been lost or destroyed while the Ministry had been under the Dark Lord's control. He cleverly steered the conversation to the inane, and everyone was overtly grateful.

Professor Snape leaned slightly towards Hermione and in a low voice, murmured. "Hufflepuff?"

Hermione swiftly covered her giggle with her hand. "Absolutely," she said, turning to him with a smile. "But don't judge him harshly, I like him very much and my Aunt adores him. They fell in love over a mutual interest in insects."

He raised an eyebrow and replied, "I wouldn't dream of insulting him. The world would be a far better place if Hufflepuffs ran it."

Her brows lifted in surprise. "Indeed. Instead of the cyclical tug-of-war that plays out eternally between Gryffindors and Slytherins?"

"Without question," he responded with a nod. "And we all know that Ravenclaws would be no good at running things. We'd all starve to death while they were busy researching the possible benefits of proper menu planning."

She laughed, drawing the attention of the others at the table, and busied herself with the next course.

The slice of roast beef was mouthwateringly attractive and smelled divine, and yet defeated her attempts to cut it. After stabbing it in frustration, she gave up and ate the mashed, frowning at the watery flavor of the potatoes.

"Charms, Miss Granger. The Ministry is bankrupt until it straightens out the lingering mess. I fear the chances of this slab of meat ever having said 'moo' are slim."

Hermione set her utensils down and sat back. "I was so hungry, too."

"My apologies; I should have left you in ignorance. I assure you, it is most likely nutritional. House-elves are rather fussy about that fact. They do the best they can with what they are given."

Hermione nodded vaguely and reached for her wine. She didn't want to admit that she only had the smallest notion of what a house-elf was. She listened to the conversation that meandered around the table, still a treatise on what the government was going to need to do to pull Wizarding Society back together. Snape pushed his plate away and sat back as well.

"I see you have caparisoned yourself in the Gryffindor colors, Miss Granger. Still loyal to your house, after all these years?"

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "It does lend itself toward that thought, I admit, but I assure you, I was thrown to the wolves of fashion like a spring lamb and had no say in the matter at all. Despite the unintentional _hommage_, I find I'm rather pleased with it. It's my very first ball gown."

"You should be. You look lovely. How are you studies coming along? How much knowledge have you managed to reclaim since you came of age—was it last year? Do you still intend to study healing?"

She blinked swiftly at his dry compliment and subsequent rapid change of subject.

"Almost two, actually. I turn nineteen in a few weeks," she blurted, stalling for time to carefully choose her words. "I haven't had the opportunity to reclaim anything. The past two years have been rather unstable, and I thought it prudent to limit my exposure to the Wizarding world. I didn't have access to my texts. Ronald was nice enough to send me all of his old ones every year, but they were all lost when my aunt's home was burned to the ground."

"Her home was destroyed? How did this happen?"

She turned and looked into his black eyes, noting the small crease of concern. "Death Eaters," she replied, watching the line of concern twist into a shadow of guilt. "No one was hurt," she reassured him, "but the horses were all lost, and the house is an utter ruin. Mercury had already whisked Alice away to Italy, and she had closed the house up for the duration."

"I'm sorry for her loss, nonetheless."

"I am as well. She was devastated. Mercury was probably the only reason she pulled through at all." Hermione looked around the ballroom, watching the nearly manic gaiety. "I think everyone here has a similar story of loss and survival. As silly as this all seems, I suspect bringing everyone together to show they are all still alive, at least, will be beneficial."

They fell silent until their plates disappeared with a quiet pop, only to be replaced with small cakes that were beautiful in their artistry.

"Do I want to eat that?" she asked, poking it with her fork, as the orchestra tuned up again.

"You can be assured it has eggs, flour, and sugar. I cannot attest to anything else."

"It looks so attractive. I bet it is insipid." She set her fork down. "Do you know that was the first lesson you taught me? You and Mr. Shunpike and , with the added illustration of Mr. Malfoy. I swiftly concluded that things that were lovely on the outside were not to be trusted, and vice versa. I suppose people usually learn that lesson in life, but I had been rather sheltered up to that point. I do miss Mr. Tatterwing. I should like to go visit him, now that the war is over."

Her professor gave her a long look, before his eyes softened and he said, "Salven Tatterwing was killed three years ago for being a Muggle sympathizer, Miss Granger."

She was so shocked by this news that she had to struggle to control her reaction. She sank her teeth into her lip in an effort to keep it from quivering. She blinked furiously trying to banish the tears. Mr. Tatterwing has been a symbol of so much that was good and wondrous about the Wizarding world to her.

"Now that dinner's over, Hermione, how would you like to take a spin on the floor with me?"

Hermione looked up in surprise to see Seamus Finnigan looming over her. She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin and gave him an apologetic smile. "Thank you, Mr. Finnigan, but not just now, I think."

"Are you sure?" he asked, surprised. His eyes shifted to Snape and back to her. "If he's making you upset you are welcome to join my table and leave him here."

Hermione's tone turned frosty. "I am quite sure, Mr. Finnigan."

Seamus's shoulders drooped and he walked away.

Professor Snape gave her an amused look. "Still can't dance?" he asked.

She was so surprised by this welcome change of subject that she laughed, remembering her humiliating revelation in the coach the night he'd come to take her to school.

"I'll have you know that my aunt actually managed to pound several graceful skills into my head over the course of a mere few weeks, one summer. Her theory was that one mustn't concede defeat about one's lack of skills until proven inept. After that, one must learn to fake it just enough to deflect suspicion. Since faking a quadrille can cause injuries, I had to actually learn."

He smirked at her but then looked up as Cormac McLaggen appeared behind them.

"We never finished our second dance, Hermione. What say we head to the floor, and you give me another chance to sweep you off your feet."

"I'm sorry, Mr. McLaggen, but I am in the middle of a conversation," she replied.

"Ah, come on, now, Granger. You owe me half a dance at least."

Aunt Alice's voice rose above the conversation, as she loudly said, "I have to wonder at the differing customs of your Wizarding society. Where Hermione and I come from, if a young man asks a lady to dance a third time, it is tantamount to a marriage proposal. Do you think this young man is asking for my niece's hand?"

Cormac blanched and nearly tripped over himself, as he swiftly rescinded his offer and fled.

Professor Snape chuckled and said, "Well played, Madam."

"Thank you, sir."

"Is that actually true?" asked Molly.

"Yes. In fact, it is," Hermione confirmed.

"How peculiar," she replied.

The table launched into a discussion on the differing courtship rituals of the two worlds, during which, Hermione fended off three more attempts to lure her onto the dance floor.

"I'm beginning to think you can't actually dance at all, Miss Granger."

"That's not it at all. I'm trying to save my feet."

"Are they endangered?"

Hermione smirked and turned to the side in her chair and crossed her one leg over the other, letting the toe of her slipper poke out from under the hem of her gown.

She leaned forward and pointed to her big toe. "This little piggy was kicked by Neville, and this little piggy stomped by Ron. And this little piggy was squashed by Cormac, and now these little piggies are gone."

She looked up with a smirk, as the table erupted into laughter at her rhyme. When it subsided, she turned back to her former teacher.

"Tell, me Professor, what do you think is the reason for such disparate customs between the Muggle and the Wizarding worlds?"

"I know exactly what the reason is, but I fear it is too delicate a subject for dinner conversation and fragile sensibilities."

She scrunched up her face. "I'm not that easily offended, and dinner is clearly over. I really am interested."

He eyed her for a long moment and then nodded and answered her question.

"Contraception, Miss Granger. Witches have control over how many children they want and when they will conceive. Muggle women do not. Therefore, witches have more say in whom they will chose as a life partner. In Wizarding Society, most matches are made for love, with only a few for fortune or prestige. In the Muggle World, the exact opposite is true. Since Muggle women have nearly no control over their lives, they must chose with care, and thus, the elaborate courtship dance designed to forestall natural inclinations long enough to discover if the young man has enough money to keep her fed. It is a mechanism of survival."

Hermione looked off into the distance, as she ruminated over these facts. "Well said. I believe you have found the crux of the issue entirely," she mused.

"Why do I see an essay forming in your head?"

She looked at him in surprise and then laughed. "Guilty as charged. I was just thinking how I would like to look into these differences more and discover if there are any other significant disparities."

"Go right ahead. Only do _not_ send your essay to me. I've retired from teaching and therefore have been liberated from the necessity of ever reading one again."

She was surprised by this bit of news. "I find that rather sad. You were a great teacher. Your loss will be felt in the ignorance of future generations."

He snorted. "Your opinion would have changed significantly if you had stayed beyond your second year, Miss Granger. I assure you."

She caught his eye and held it. "And I assure _you_, Mr. Snape, that my opinion of you is immutable."

"Hermione, I was wondering if you would like to dance," Dean Thomas said over her shoulder.

Snape stood up swiftly and said, "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Thomas, Miss Granger has just agreed to dance with me."

Hermione blinked in surprise, as he turned to her and held out his hand, while Mr. Thomas skulked away.

"If we are ever going to finish a conversation uninterrupted, then this appears to be the only way to do it," he said, looking annoyed. "I assure you, I've never trodden on a lady's toe in my life."

She slipped her hand into his and stood, looking back over her shoulder at Alice, who was smiling at her rather like a pirate, while Molly, Arthur, and Mercury chattered on.

* * *

Ah...sparks. How lovely.


	25. Ignominy

**AN:** Sorry, I have been under the weather the last few days. Review replies will be sketchy until I am on my feet again.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure if she was still breathing. She wasn't even sure if she was still walking. All she was sure of was that his hand was large and warm and slightly calloused.

When he lifted her hand up, and placed his other on her back, she shuddered from head to toe. She finally looked around and realized they were about to start a waltz.

"You do know the waltz, do you not, Miss Granger?"

"I do. But I've never actually danced one before in public."

"Try to keep up."

As the orchestra swelled, his hand tightened slightly against her, and she nearly slapped her other hand onto his shoulder.

He pulled her into a turn and they spun away as if on a cloud. They made a complete circuit around the room before she stopped saying '_one-two-three, one-two-three'_ in her head.

Feeling it was now safe to let her legs do the work without having to actively tell them how to move, she looked up at her partner. He was scowling darkly around them. She looked around and became aware of all the curious stares and behind-the-hand comments.

"They are merely over-curious, sir," she said. "You are a great mystery to them."

"I would rather do without their curiosity," he muttered.

"I can understand," she said, squeezing his hand slightly in sympathy. "However, I must admit to no small amount of curiosity of my own, so I fear I am no better than the rest of them."

His face turned towards hers finally, and his gaze was dark, indeed. "Are you also curious about what it is like to betray two masters? What it was like to be the most ignominious Headmaster in Hogwarts' history? How it felt to nearly bleed to death, alone and untended, discarded like a piece of rubbish?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and she swallowed thickly, shaking her head. "No," she croaked. "I wasn't curious about those things at all."

There was a long pause before his voice came, softer and gentler. "Forgive me, Miss Granger. I detest being a spectacle and am at a loss as to how I ended up out on the dance floor after all these years. You have a strange way of making me forget myself. But then, you always did. Ask your curious question. I'll not take offense."

She blinked furiously to try and recover her composure.

"I was curious about where you have been since the battle. What you are doing since you have given up teaching. That was all," she said softly.

He lifted his head and steered them around several couples, swirling her in a series of graceful loops before answering.

"I've been with my family," he said finally. "I've decided to take the time to oversee the raising of my children properly."

She stumbled badly, and he caught her.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, as he covered their gaffe well.

"I'm sorry. I was just surprised, that's all. Like you were, I suppose, to see that I was no longer thirteen. You are married," she said in a dazed voice. "With children, even. I feel so silly for not having known. I fear I might have raised you up to some godlike status beyond mere mortals, and it never occurred to me that you were simply human, with a wife and children and probably a dog and a cat as well."

He smirked. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Miss Granger. You were most likely influenced by the 'Tragic Hero' figure that Potter has been putting about, having played fast and loose with the secret of my years' long devotion to the memory of his mother. He seems to think it is far above the pathetic reality that it was."

She grimaced in sympathy. "Actually, I only found out the war was over about eight days ago. I know very little about events, and what I have heard about your crusade to avenge Mrs. Potter has all been learned tonight, before you arrived."

"Ah. I stand corrected and chastised for having opened my mouth."

"Oh, it didn't affect your tragic hero status in my mind. You were firmly entrenched as such from the moment Mr. Malfoy snatched that cauldron out of your hand and you looked like you wanted to pick up another one and clout him with it, but couldn't."

"Was I really that obvious?"

"Rather."

"Well, I was a bit out of practice with hiding my thoughts at that point. It was early days."

"Indeed it was. You were much harder to read by my second year. Tell me about your family, Mr. Snape. I would very much like to hear about them."

"I can tell you that the picture you paint is a little off. There are no cats, no dogs, and no longer a wife. She was killed just over two years ago by Death Eaters."

Hermione closed her eyes from the empathetic pain his words caused. "I am so sorry for your loss," she whispered fiercely. She opened them again when she realized the timing. "Two years? The Headmaster asked you to kill him while you were still grieving your wife? That was excessively cruel."

Snape looked at her in surprise and then spun them to a halt at a quiet edge of the dance floor. His robes swirled around her legs possessively, before falling away.

"He didn't know. No one knew. My wife was a Muggle. I kept my family a secret from everyone, until now. You're the first person I've ever told."

She smiled at him, realizing they were still holding hands. She squeezed his, and he let go. "Tell me about your children."

"Two boys, one girl. Simon is sixteen, give or take. Nigel just turned six, and Grace is over four and a half."

Hermione smiled. "And they are fine and bright and handsome, and they rule your heart. I can see it in your eyes. You are a very proud father."

He smirked. "Just so."

The smile they shared as they gazed at each other faltered, as the air suddenly felt charged around them. Hermione felt a sense of déjà vu connected to the sudden fear that she was about to fall into his dark eyes. The warmth she had felt when she and Ron had shared that one moment was nothing like the sudden fire that seemed to race along her body just under the skin. She found her gaze had slipped to his lips, and she had a powerful urge to find out what kissing him would be like.

In the blink of an eye, it was over.

He abruptly offered to escort her back to the table, and she took his arm with softly murmured gratitude.

Before she knew it, she was sitting facing her aunt, and he was walking away.

Alice stood up and walked around the table until she was sitting next to her, clasping her hands in her own.

"What just happened?" she asked with concern.

"I don't know," whispered Hermione, trying to calm her pounding heart. "I think I just fell in love."

Alice squeezed her hands tightly and replied, "Oh, Hermione. Didn't you realize? You've been in love with that man since you were a little girl."

Hermione turned and looked at her aunt. "Well, then. I have a new secret, haven't I?"

Alice made a moue of distaste. "This isn't a good secret to keep, love."

"But it's the only one I'm left with, isn't it? For it surely isn't mutual, is it?"

Alice looked over at the scowling man assembling with the other honorees behind the Minister for Magic. He didn't look happy in the least.

"I don't know," she mused. "I just don't know. But I will tell you that when you leaned over to recite your witty bit of doggerel, it wasn't your crushed toes that captured his attention."

Mortified, Hermione slapped a hand to her bosom and blushed furiously.

* * *

Snape stood to the side as Shacklebolt went through his entire vocabulary trying to deliver a memorable speech for posterity.

It was hard not to sneer, but he had been told that sneering in the background was expressly forbidden. His freedom had hinged on his concession to play his part in this farce, and as soon as it was over he was finished with his obligations to this world.

He would be pardoned, vindicated, and his Gringotts vault would remain secure. A worthy enough reason to endure the ordeal of being here.

Not that it had been the ordeal he had expected. The glares, the mutterings, and even the cowardly elbows in the side every time he'd walked through the crowd, had more than been ameliorated by the pleasant company at dinner. He'd not had such an enjoyable meal since before Potter had first come to school.

It occurred to him, in that moment, that he might just possibly have reached the other side. That this feeling of doom, which had pressed down on him for nigh unto eight years now, had come to an end. He glanced over at the table he'd sat at and looked at the Weasleys, the implausible Throgsbottoms, and the ever-curious Miss Granger, and considered a future time spent in good company.

When his eye lingered too long on Miss Granger, he twisted his gaze away.

She was a lovely girl, to be sure. Smart, witty, and undeniably attractive. Surely, now that the war was over, she would return to her studies and become a brilliant Healer someday. Probably find herself a nice wizard and settle down to raise a family of her own. He wished her well.

He was looking at her again.

_Damnation._

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake off what had happened. Fucking hell, he'd ogled her breasts like a schoolboy, asked her to _dance_, of all things, and then nearly kissed her. _Her_. Miss Granger. Who had only been thirteen years of age _yesterday_. He'd almost leaned down and kissed her in front of virtually the entire Wizarding world.

He closed his eyes, ashamed of himself all over again. What the hell had come over him? Why was his hand still burning from the memory of lying against her warm body?

He closed his eyes and sighed. There was nothing to it. The moment was only the product of his near-giddiness at finally being able to speak about his secret life, her constant looks that spoke of total acceptance, his own lost-boy insecurity that he always felt around such a pretty thing, and the extremely inappropriate conversation during dinner, not to forget the way her breasts had almost spilled out of her gown when she had leaned over.

He'd simply been alone too long, that was all. He hadn't grown accustomed to it the way he always had been in the past. Before Elspeth.

The fact that she had obviously been swept up in the moment as well was also easily explained. She was evidently extremely foolish and extremely impressionable. It didn't take a genius to know the girl was as virginal as fresh snow and ripe for picking. Half the young bucks in the room were gagging for a taste of her. She must have sensed it all night and only unconsciously reacted when she thought it was safe. Around her _teacher_. It wouldn't have been the first time Snape had been on the receiving end of a female student's awakening ardor.

It was just the first time he'd been utterly defenseless in the face of it.

Upon further contemplation, he found his sudden attraction for his former student was beyond tasteless; it was shameful.

He took a deep breath and expelled it, hoping to expel this foolishness with it. He didn't need this. He didn't even _want _this. Elspeth may have been gone these two years, but it still felt like an indecently short amount of time to be contemplating bedding anyone else. His obsession with Lily might have evaporated with his own near death, but his grief for Elspeth hadn't.

He had always thought highly of Miss Granger. She was innocence personified, and he sullied her with this sudden lust. She was just playing dress up. Clearly, she had no idea what effect she had.

It was just as clear that he was staring at her again.

Her aunt gave him a quizzical glance, and he just raised his eyebrow and turned away. God only knows what she must think; he was most likely showing his ubiquitous disgusted sneer. That was far more preferable to looking like just another leering idiot.

He was pulled from his thoughts by an exceptionally loud burst of applause and only then realized that most of the honorees were already up on the dais wearing their medals. He took stock of who was left and winced. Only the Golden Trio remained, aside from himself. Surely Shacklebolt wouldn't be foolish enough to call him last?

"Neville Longbottom!" The crowd applauded wildly again, and Snape closed his eyes. What a fool. What a short-sighted fool.

"Ronald Weasley!"

_Don't do this. Don't call my name at all._

"Harry Potter!"

Snape pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin, as the assembly went wild applauding their hero.

"And finally, Severus Snape!"

There was a smattering of applause that emanated from his fellow honorees up on the dais, as well as the table he had eaten dinner at. The rest of the hall was deathly silent as he walked up the few steps and stood before the crowd.

He bowed his head, as Kingsley placed the medal around his neck and when he straightened there was a shout of, "Murdering filth!"

The crowd went wild with screaming. Not all of it was aimed at him, he had his supporters, it seemed. Some of the screaming was aimed at others in the crowd itself. But the one phrase that consistently rose above the rest was, "_Death Eater!_"

"Stand your ground, Severus," McGonagall urged behind him. Flitwick and Sprout added their voices of support as well. However, it was obvious that the pitch was rising, and something dire would happen if it were allowed to continue.

Snape reached up and pulled the Order of Merlin, first class, over his head to frenzied cries. He turned to young Potter, who was shaking with fury and looked as if he would leap into the crowd and begin maiming people, just to defend Snape's right to be up here. Potter, who without the mitigating influence of the bit of the Dark Lord trapped in his scar, was now just a frightened boy who'd had to grow up too fast.

Severus wished he had understood the nature of why he'd taken such an instant dislike to the boy much sooner. By the time he had, they were locked into the terms of combat and could not step out of their roles.

With a tight smile, he placed his medal atop the other hanging around Potter's neck, adjusting it, so the two fell side by side.

"This should have been your mother's," he told him quietly. "I want you to have it."

Potter dashed surprised tears out of his eyes. "You're the only one left alive that really knew her," he said.

"So I am," Snape replied, "and I shall tell you about her someday."

He reached his hand out, and Potter shook it. "You're an inspiration, Snape," he said. "They can all go hang.

"I thought the point was rather to save them all," Snape replied.

"I must admit sometimes lately I can't find the point," Potter quipped back.

Snape smirked and turned to Weasley who shook his hand vigorously, as if to show the world how it was supposed to be done. "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. Without you, he wouldn't have made it. You came into your own, once you were free of other people's assumptions about you."

"The same can be said for you, sir."

He turned to the last of the Golden Trio and shook his hand as well. "Longbottom. You have my undying thanks for killing that blasted snake."

"That was an honor, sir. Had I known what it had done to you at the time, I would have killed it twice."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Had you known what it had done to me, _at the time_, Longbottom, you'd have brought it back to life and fed it a biscuit. Let's stick to the truth, shall we?"

He turned and made a small bow to Miss Weasley. "You were my most valuable ally. I only wish I could have done more than send Aberforth with food."

"You did keep sending me to Hagrid for detention, sir," she said with a smile. "I did eventually see that for what it was."

"It was very little when we look back. You did a fine job of keeping those students safe. I commend you for it."

He turned away, and with a nod toward the Headmistress and the rest of his former staff, and nary a glance toward the Minister, Severus Snape strode off the platform and through the crowd to the Floos.

With a flash of smoke and a billow of robe, he was free of them all.

* * *

Hermione stood shaking with clenched fists, as the crowd reacted to the dramatic exit. She'd been furious from that first cry of 'murderer.' How dare they? What gave them the right to judge him harshly after having been told the truth?

She looked around the room and saw ugliness from one side to the other. Those that reveled in his public shaming were only a degree more foul than those that just enjoyed a scandalous show. Far too few of the faces showed affronted sensibilities, never mind the horror that Hermione was experiencing. Only her friends up on the dais. There she saw fury. Harry clenched his hands repeatedly, while Ginny alternated between soothing him and staring the crowd down.

Headmistress McGonagall raked the room with a gaze heavy in judgment, before she and the other professors stepped down off the small stage and followed Mr. Snape to the Floos. The celebration of the Battle of Hogwarts was left without a single representative of Hogwarts.

Hermione turned and only then realized that Molly still had her hand clamped on Hermione's shoulder. She'd nearly dashed across the floor to give them all a piece of her mind, and Molly had wisely stopped her. Mr. Snape had handled himself with an incredible amount of dignity. She would have just made a fool of herself.

She turned to her aunt, who was still looking up at the podium in shock as well.

"I would like to leave now," she said. "I would like to leave this place and never come back. This isn't the world for me."

Alice nodded and Molly rubbed at her shoulder before pulling her into a hug.

"Don't cut us off quite so completely, this time, alright?" Molly said, handing over her reticule.

"I promise," Hermione whispered.

Alice and Mercury settled on either side of her and together they all walked to the exit. Several people tried to get her attention as they passed, but as none of them were actually a friend, so she didn't even turn her head.

As they waited to board the Knight Coach with another group of people, Alice said, "Hermione, Mercury and I want you to know that if you come to stay with us it would not be charity. Otterwold will be yours someday. It is your home. Or will be, when we get it rebuilt."

Hermione looked at her aunt and uncle and smiled sadly. "Your words mean the world to me, and I consider the two of you the only family I have, but I must make my own way in life, Alice. This," she waved a hand at the building behind them, "isn't for me."

Mercury handed his wife his handkerchief when she started to cry. "I just want you to be happy, Hermione. Whatever you chose, I will support. Please don't cut me out of your life again, that's all I ask."

Hermione threw her arms around her. "I won't! I couldn't! I'm so sorry I hurt you, Alice. I just… for some reason I thought I was justified in not burdening you with the truth. It was so awful. To find my magic was gone, Otterwold burned, my Grandmother had stolen my parents' money... I'm stronger now. It won't be like before. I promise."

* * *

The silvery-blue moonlight slipped through the slight divide between the heavy curtains, danced across the discarded dress robes on the floor, and fell in a stripe across the face of the man sleeping in the bed, as it always did this time of the year.

It illuminated the relaxed, soft smile when he dreamt about the young, green-eyed girl that had chased him down the hill toward the canal.

It deepened the shadows in the lines of sadness carved into his face, as he dreamt of a young woman with powder-blue eyes that lured him like a siren from her doorstep, one summer night.

When the dream changed to that of a beauty with honey-gold eyes and a pointed little chin, the man's own glittering black ones flew open.

The moonlight witnessed his alarmed breaths and disoriented looks, until he remembered himself and where he was.

It settled across his brow like a balm and whispered encouragement, when he closed his eyes again to recapture that last dream.

* * *

Best wishes to my Egyptian friends. May the new era bring you peace and prosperity.


	26. Guardian

AN: Thank you for the well wishes! I'm more or less back in the saddle. Onward!

* * *

Hermione wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she strolled through the park with Fredrick in the autumn sun. The trees had mostly lost their leaves, but the air was uncommonly mild for that time of year.

Fredrick was chattering on about some latest bit of important paperwork for one client or another, but Hermione's thoughts were on the symbolism of the day. This gentle end of the season seemed like a message she finally decided not to ignore.

"Fredrick, do you want to kiss me?" she asked without preamble.

His words sputtered to a halt, and he stopped and looked at her with the expected amount of surprise.

"What, _now?_"

"No, I mean ever." She continued her stroll and dragged him along behind her by the force of her will.

"I don't understand your question. This is a rather strange topic, I must say."

"Is it?" She looked at him finally, looked deep into his confused green eyes. "What exactly are we to each other?"

He took so long forming his answer that she walked on again. He followed like a faithful hound.

"I think we know what we are to each other, Hermione. We've been walking out together for two years now."

"No. I don't think we do, even though we have. We are obviously good friends. I think we hold each other in very high esteem. But beyond that?"

He reached out and took hold of her elbow, turning her to face him.

"Is this your way of getting me to make a declaration? Do you want to make our understanding more formal? You know that I'm not in a position to support a wife yet. But I will if that is what you want."

She looked at him, searching for any trace of an emotion aside from confusion.

"No. It wasn't, and I don't. You mustn't allow yourself to be so easily pressured into doing something you're not ready for."

He grimaced and let go of her arm, plainly unsure of how to respond. She continued walking.

"Fredrick, did I ever tell you that I wanted to study medicine? I wanted to be a doctor."

He chuckled warmly. "I wanted to be a bird, when I was younger. I always thought it would be rather splendid to fly."

"Do you really think a woman learning to be a doctor is as impossible as you learning to be a bird?" she asked softly.

He looked at her in confusion again.

"Well, there is a lot of evidence to show that the fairer sex doesn't have the constitution for such things. And even if, by some aberration, you were capable, who would you tend to? No one would see a woman about an ailment."

"What about other women?"

"I suppose you have a point there. You could, perhaps, make a practice of dealing with a woman's more private complaints."

Hermione nodded and reached down and picked up a fallen leaf. She crumpled it slightly, and it began to fall apart, leaving behind only the stronger veins and the stem.

"Fredrick. I shall not marry you. Not because of any flaw or failing on your part, you are a good and worthy man, but because of an intrinsic flaw on mine."

He stopped and turned to her again, and finally, she saw emotions other than befuddlement. "I don't understand."

"You see, as much as I value you as a person, I am not actually attracted to you as a man. Sexually." She wanted to giggle at the way his face paled. "Oh, don't worry, it is most assuredly just me. You are very attractive. You have only to watch the way my friends swoon when your back is turned. Hear me out. You are loyal. You are caring. You are morally upright and exceedingly hardworking. You deserve a wife who, when you come home at the end of a day, will adore you. One who will devote her every waking hour to making your life easier. I am not that person. I think you could accept that, and we would have a marriage based on friendship and mutual respect. But don't you think you would be even just a little happier with a wife whose heart skipped a beat when she saw you at the end of that day? Don't you think your life would be more pleasant with a wife that you secretly thought about kissing at the most inappropriate moments?"

She smiled softly, as he looked off at the horizon and saw his possible futures.

"I suppose you're right, when you put it like that, but is such an ideal possible?"

"Oh, yes, if you work towards that as a goal."

They both turned and walked back the way they had come, as if the decision had already been made.

"How would I find such a woman?"

"I'm not sure, actually. But I do think that you might not have to look too far. I know Mary Parker has been half in love with you for these two years past. She's a practical girl, and I suspect she could become quite devoted. I know you find her charming, but I have no idea if you would ever see her in that sort of light."

"I'm not sure either. Half in love with me, you say?"

"You were the only one who never saw it."

He looked at her, and she detected a trace of petulance. "I was too busy looking at you."

"Oh, Fredrick. No you weren't. You were too busy being my friend and enjoying my company to actually see me, or you would have seen that I was in desperate need of a kiss."

He grew uncomfortable.

"You see?" she said, "Right there. It feels wrong, doesn't it? Like kissing a sister. I think the problem isn't that we don't love each other, Fredrick. It's that we don't love each other in the right way, and you were hoping that somehow, we would just move past it. I think you appointed yourself as my protector, a noble guardian, and you decided to carry that through to a seemingly logical conclusion. I did to. But I don't think it is the right thing. It is not enough. Not for you… and not for me."

He looked down at his boots. "There is a lot of truth there. Don't get me wrong, you are beautiful, but there has always been something missing that I thought would somehow appear in the marriage bed."

She laughed. "Yes, but I suspect there is supposed to be some mad rush to get there and find out. I think we are both hopelessly naïve in that area."

"As we should be," he said with a blush.

"Of course," she replied with a straight face.

"But what about you? Here you are, sending me off to find a more suitable wife. Where does that leave you free to go?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm beginning to think I might just be too peculiar to ever get married. It occurred to me that I would want a husband that would devote himself to me. Who would indulge my thirst for knowledge and support my efforts, no matter how fate is stacked against me. I'm not sure such a creature exists."

Fredrick's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open just the slightest bit. "You really do want to become a doctor."

She nodded to him. "It's what I've wanted since I was a small girl. It is my dream."

He shook his head slowly and offered her his arm. She took it, and together they headed back toward her home.

"I think, if any woman could, Hermione, it would be you."

"Thank you, Fredrick."

As they left the park, he turned to her and said, "Half in love with me, you say?"

"More like three quarters," she giggled.

* * *

The June bride was beautiful in her white dress; the groom was handsome in his black robes, even with his badly tied cravat. The best man made the usual, tasteless fumble with the ring for a laugh, and the gathered had dutifully complied. The mother of the bride wept with little dignity, and the mother of the groom… was long dead.

From his unnervingly observable place at the front, Severus Snape watched Harry Potter kiss his bride under a shower of sparks. He fulfilled his role, representing the groom's last living link to his past, with all the solemnity the occasion called for. When the ceremony was over, he shook the young man's hand and offered up some inane platitude that was immediately forgotten by both of them. He bowed to the bride, and then followed the bridal party away from the altar and across the lawn to the marquee where all the food was.

The band struck up a playful tune, and the guests began to revel in earnest, now that the ceremony was over.

Snape stood at the back and watched the company, as they loaded up plates and separated into groups to find a place to sit. When he spotted his quarry, he went and filled a plate for himself and headed over to her table.

"May I join you?"

"Mr. Snape! I'd love to share a table with you again. Please have a seat! You looked quite dashing up there. Didn't he, Mercury?"

"He did, indeed," said Mr. Throgsbottom. "They all looked marvelous."

"It is good to see you both again, Madam, and please, call me Severus. You and your husband look well; how are things?"

Alice Throgsbottom smiled warmly. "Things are going swimmingly for us. The rebuilding of Otterwold goes very well indeed. The Ministry finally allowed us to just take the recompense and allow local Muggle labor to do the work. I prefer to invest in the local economy when I can. Having the house appear overnight seems a bit… decadent to me. And the charms that would be needed to explain it would have been a nightmare. I like my Muggle neighbors and prefer them to be able to actually find my house when they come calling.

"But enough about me, how have you been? It's been almost a year since we saw you last."

"I've been well. My investments are thriving, so I find much satisfaction with that. I moved my household in June, and that has brought its own headaches. I don't envy you when your new Otterwold is completed."

"Oh, don't I know it. However, I don't actually have that much to pack, so that will make things a bit easier."

"Indeed."

He turned to his food and managed to actually clear his plate before he finally asked the question that had been consuming him since he'd arrived.

"Where is your niece? I don't seem to see her anywhere."

"She's in Vienna," answered Alice. "The family that she works for has travelled to Europe to meet up with the husband. He is some sort of military diplomatic liaison over there."

"The family that she works for? I'm afraid I'm not following you."

He saw Mercury move his arm surreptitiously to touch his wife's back. Whatever he had just brought up seemed to be an old sadness.

"Hermione still works as the governess for that Muggle family."

He looked from one of them to the other, trying to find a different meaning to her words.

"Still?"

"Yes."

"But why? Why would she choose to do that?"

"Hermione is extremely independent of spirit. She wants to find her own way in the world and refuses to take anything that she considers charity."

He blinked several times, still unable to make sense of her words.

"But couldn't she do this in the magical world? Surely her options would be more… expansive."

Alice and Mercury shared a look that was just as confused as Severus felt.

"I guess there was no way for you to know, although, for some reason, I had thought she'd told you. Hermione has no magic. When she finally came of age, it was gone. We were already hiding in Europe, and she'd also just found out her grandmother had cheated her out of her parents' money. To add insult to injury, that loathsome creature had even arranged to collect her year's salary first. Hermione turned seventeen to discover she was a destitute squib."

Snape felt his entire body grow cold and didn't bother to hide his shock. "I had no idea…"

"No one did. She didn't tell me until we returned from Europe last August. The only other people who know, besides ourselves, are Molly and Arthur," said Alice quietly.

"Damnedest thing I ever heard of," said Mercury. "As soon as I found out, I started researching the phenomenon. I couldn't even find anyone that had heard of it at first."

"I'd heard of it, but I admit, I doubted the source. There was a chance the person who told me was simply making it up."

"Oh, it's real alright," Mercury said. "The reason why we don't hear of it more is because people don't talk about it. The idea of waking up without your magic one day scares them more than boggarts."

"So did you turn up information?"

"Not much, but enough to have an idea of what caused it."

"Emotional trauma."

"That's it. Along with a predisposition towards suppressing emotion. I agree with this finding, even if it flies in the face of conventional thought. Before, they saw a connection between the subject's tendency to flicker in and out of the Hogwarts' enrollment book as an underage child, and decided it showed a trend toward having their magic be weak to begin with. I thought that was a suspiciously feeble argument. My own magic is hardly functional, good for little more than warming a cup of tea, duplication spells and attracting insects, and yet, it has never left me. So I started looking farther afield and researching the subject in other countries. I just found a paper in Bulgaria last week that I think proves it wasn't about the magic being inherently weak, but that the child was already displaying a need to suppress it."

Severus sat back in his chair and stared around the tent, not seeing anyone.

"What has she tried?" he asked finally.

Alice reached over and scooped up her husband's hand in her own. "Nothing. Hermione has turned her back on magic completely. She says it's too painful for her to be around magical folk and has thrown herself into being a Muggle and finding a place for herself."

He whipped his head around and pinned her with a glare. "As a _governess?_" he snapped. "She's too smart for that. She must feel incredibly stifled. Why wouldn't she at least _try_ to reclaim her heritage? Why on earth would she just roll over and wait to die?"

Severus realized his voice had grown too loud when the other guests started turning around and staring. He felt his face flush and scowled at them all until they looked away. He also belatedly realized that he was no longer talking about Miss Granger. He pushed his plate away in disgust.

"Actually, Mr. Snape, you had a lot to do with her decision," said Alice in a soft voice.

He turned to her and saw her giving him a strange, penetrating look that made him uncomfortable. "Me? What could I have possibly had to do with anything?"

"Hermione burned her wand when she heard you had killed Albus Dumbledore."

All the blood drained from his face, and he felt his expression spread into a rictus of horror.

"No," she said, reaching out and grabbing his arm tightly. "No. It's not what you think. Hermione became furious with the Wizarding World because they believed you were a villain. She knew you were not."

And there it was… the thing that had been there since that first night in her parents' sitting room, when she had looked at him with such pleading eyes, depending on _him_ to say the right thing so she could go to school. That thing she had always shown him, in nearly every encounter. That thing he would look for at every meal during her first year, that he had quickly come to crave, and had struggled so hard against that next year. Absolute, unwavering faith in him. It was as if she wasn't living in the same reality as everyone else. Even its merest echo had softened his heart toward Elspeth enough for him to turn his life upside down for it.

It was the strangest thing.

It had been there again last year, only now in the form of a strikingly beautiful woman, unaware of the effect that she had on everyone around her. He closed his eyes and remembered the intensity of her honey-gold gaze as she said, '…_my opinion of you is immutable_.' He'd heard that voice in his dreams every night since.

"They turned their back on you, so she turned her back on them," Alice continued. "She made a life for herself, settled into a routine, came to be a valued member of the family she works for, and even found herself a nice, staid, Muggle lawyer to go walking out with."

He scrubbed his face with both of his hands.

"Mercury and I convinced her to come with us to the ball last year. We had hoped that if she were to find her way back to her friends, to form some kind of connection or bond in the magical community again, it would lead to her healing. Unfortunately, that backfired rather spectacularly. Instead, she witnessed you being treated like a pariah. It only strengthened her resolve."

Snape shook his head at the incredible mess. How the hell had they become so interwoven? What did it mean that her life was so deeply affected by his? Why was he so foolish as to care?

The thing that bothered him the most was the fact that he couldn't eradicate her from his mind. His life had decided to take yet another strange turn these last months, and he'd clung to his thoughts of her to carry him through the chaos.

He suddenly wondered if it was because he was intended to help her. It was as plausible an explanation as any other. What if it was nothing more than his need to finish this one loose thread left from the war? Perhaps it was simply a matter of finding a way to restore the potential that had been there as a child, so he could move on with his life.

"One good thing came of that night," Alice said.

Snape gave her a questioning glance, trying to pull himself from his thoughts.

"She broke things off with the nice, practical, lawyer of a parson's son. It seems that after the ball, she'd been given a better picture of what would make a worthy life partner and had decided he wouldn't suit. I consider that a major breakthrough."

He wasn't sure he liked the lingering look in the woman's eye after that comment. He turned to her husband and said, "I would appreciate being advised of any more information on this subject you come up with, Throgsbottom. I suspect my own mother suffered from the same condition, and so it holds a certain amount of interest to me. I will look into Miss Granger's situation as well and see what can be done."

"Certainly, Severus. I'll send you copies of what I have already found tomorrow morning, if you would like."

Severus accepted the offer, while narrowing his eyes at Hermione's aunt. She had returned her attention to her plate and was spearing mushrooms with suspicious glee.

He lifted his wineglass lips, but his hand stopped before it reached his lips. He had a sudden flash of vivid memory and placed his glass back down.

He turned to the Throgsbottoms and said, "But she _hasn't_ lost her magic. I saw it last year at the ball."

* * *

Charles checked his reflection in one of the many mirrors, adjusting his wig and straightening his uniform before he moved to open the front door.

"Good afternoon. How may I be of service, sir?"

The man on the doorstep turned around and looked at him with piercing black eyes that made Charles' spine turn to jelly.

"I'm here to see Lady Granger," the man said.

* * *

Severus Snape stood in the foyer surrounded by images of himself reflected from nearly every wall. The effect only exacerbated the anger he'd felt burning his gut since Potter's wedding. He was furious with himself. He was seething with self-recrimination for not having thought of doing this exact thing all those years ago and sparing Granger her present circumstances.

He snarled at the gaunt fool in the mirror, as he heard the footman's steps draw closer. He hadn't done anything for the girl after her parents had died because he'd been thinking like a wizard. He'd had another option and it had never occurred to him to use it because he hadn't been free to think clearly. He closed his eyes, remembering how he had already frightened himself with his small act of rebellion in even going after the girl. He had been too willing to concede the field. He'd been too caught up in the escalating madness, constrained by Dumbledore's rigidity, to see the simple solution that had been there the entire time. He had been trying to be _honorable_… He realized only now that Dumbledore had been hoping he would take the low road and find a way to return Miss Granger to school. He had failed the Headmaster as well.

Severus Snape hadn't always been a wizard, and he hadn't always been honorable. Not by a far cry.

This wouldn't clear the slate, but it would give him great satisfaction.

If it worked.

He kept his things and followed the footman into the drawing room, where he found Lady Granger seated near the fire with a tea tray. She was much reduced from his memory of her. It seemed that her social circumstances had deeply affected her disposition. She had lost much of her hauteur.

He put off any greeting, until the footman withdrew and closed the door behind him. He rudely dropped his hat and gloves on the table next to the tray, but held onto his walking stick.

"Do I know you?" Lady Granger snapped. "What possible reason could you have for interrupting my tea?"

Snape walked over to the other chair and flicked the tails of his coat out of the way before seating himself. He planted his walking stick between his feet and folded his hands atop it, before resting his chin on it and staring at the old woman.

"I've got business to discuss with you, _Maggie_."

The look of affront turned to shock, and her face grew satisfyingly pale. "I have nothing to say to you, and you will leave this minute!" Lady Granger struggled up from her chair and made to reach for the bell pull.

"I understand that you are out of practice when it comes to entertaining, but surely you remember such trifles as good manners. No? Then I shall dispense with them as well. I'll leave when I'm ready, and not until you've agreed to my demands. Unless you want the world to know that all of your sons except your deceased youngest are, in fact, illegitimate."

Lady Granger froze and then looked back at him in horror.

He smirked at her.

"Oh, yes, indeed. Quite the sordid little tale to tell, how young Maggie took up with her stodgy husband's rakish younger brother. What a scandal it would be for a family already clinging to the last bits of their reputations, for the latest _on dit_ of the town to be how the former Baronet only has one legal heir. What was her name? Ah, yes… _Hermione_." Snape gave her a feral smile. "How badly that would play out, now that everyone knows you have already stolen what paltry sum your only legitimate child left for her. I can see the children singing songs about you in the street outside even now."

Lady Granger pressed a hand to her ample bosom and collapsed into her seat, while Snape indulged in a triumphant smile. He had taken a bit of a stab in the dark, cobbling together what he could from what he'd remembered of the odious woman's memories years ago. From the sickly grey color of her face, he had hit the nail right on the head.

"You have no proof of these baseless accusations," she whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Don't I?" He sat back and reached into his bottle-green coat and pulled out a slim volume and laid it in his lap, tapping his fingers on it. "But surely you wouldn't think someone like me would be so foolish as to come here empty-handed. One would almost certainly need some sort of proof. Perhaps a journal, or diary, or, perhaps, a deathbed confession scribbled in the margins of a Common Book of Prayer by a dissolute and clap-addled Robert Granger. A sad little man who had lost his looks, his fortune and his self-respect, after a life spent cuckolding his only living brother."

"Who the hell are you!" she hissed.

"Me? I'm no one." He shook his head in mock concern. "Dear, dear, Maggie. You don't look well at all, and I do need you to live long enough to write a new will. Why don't you have some tea. It might perk you up a bit. I take mine with milk and sugar."

"A will? You want me to write you into my will?"

"Don't be obtuse, Maggie. I want you to write Miss Hermione Granger into your will. You will leave her a sum of five thousand pounds."

"Who _are_ you? Did my granddaughter put you up to this? I don't have five thousand pounds! I have nothing left but my annuity!"

"I've told you, I am no one at all. As for your granddaughter, I understand she is currently out of the country and not expected back for quite some time. She has no idea of the truth, not that she would have any sympathy for you. As for your money…" He stuffed the slender book into his pocket again and leaned forward. "You shouldn't try to lie to me, Maggie. It's very bad form and just cost you another five hundred pounds."

Lady Granger leveled a furious glare at him.

Snape raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "Really," he drawled. "Is that the best you can do?"

She sagged in defeat.

He set his walking stick to the side and took advantage of his position to pour himself some tea, taking the only cup.

"Why in a will?" she asked. "Why not just demand the money outright? Why not just demand everything? My house, my jewels…"

He sat back and sipped his tea. "Ceylon, how lovely."

She looked like she was about to have a fit.

"I suspect if you gave her this house, she would burn it to the ground. If you left her your jewels, she would trade them for books. The things you hold dear, above all human decency, are meaningless to her. Hermione Granger wants to make her own way in the world," he replied. "Handing her a lump of money and telling her I squeezed it out of you like the bloated tick you are would most likely result in her handing it over to the first pauper she saw. However, I suspect you dropping dead and leaving it to her as part of some late life need to make amends for your many, many sins would be more agreeable to her sensibilities."

"You intend to hasten my demise as soon as I sign a new will!"

He gave her a look filled with mock pity. "I don't have to, Maggie. Between the gout, your heart, and the failing kidneys, you'll be dead well within the next two to three years anyway." He sipped his tea. "You really don't have a choice, you know. That's the nature of extortion. Do as I say, or I ruin not just you but your three bastard sons and their families as well. Honestly, woman, look at the whole picture. You can give your granddaughter five thousand, five hundred pounds upon your not too distant demise, or you can refuse, and let the daughter of the child you resented inherit it all, while your beloved Robert's children languish in instantaneous poverty."

Lady Granger turned an unbecoming shade of grey. He might have pushed her a little too far. If she kicked the bucket too soon, the other half of his plan would fall to pieces.

"You blackguard!" she hissed.

"Just copped on to that, did we? You seem a bit slower than I gave you credit for. You know, you really should try this tea, it _is_ rather fine."

* * *

He can be rather nasty, can he not?


	27. Employ

**AN:** Another of those moments you have been waiting for...

* * *

Hermione opened the front door and her three charges trooped into the house with military precision. They had been obsessed with all things military since they'd returned from Europe.

"Companeeeee, halt!"

The three of them stopped, more or less in single file.

"Presennnnnt hands!"

They stuck out their hands with a medley of giggles, and Hermione plucked off their mittens, hats and mufflers.

"Company dismissed. Quietly now. Go get ready for tea."

Hermione smiled, as Bertie started off up the stairs with a muted, 'hut, hut, hut!'

She pulled off her own bonnet and gloves and was unbuttoning her wool pelisse when Mrs. Penry-Jones appeared in the foyer.

"Might I have a word with you, Miss Granger?"

"Of course, madam."

"In the parlor, if you will."

Hermione pressed her hand over her suddenly aching stomach and followed her employer into the parlor.

They sat in silence until Martha had brought in a tea tray and left. Mrs. Penry-Jones poured the tea and handed Hermione her cup with a slightly shaking hand. Hermione took the cup and clasped the woman's hand.

"Are you alright, madam? Is something wrong?"

Mrs. Penry-Jones turned her hand and grabbed onto Hermione's.

"I've received a letter today. From the Major. He's coming home. His duties are coming to an end in two months. He will be here by Easter, he says."

Both women exchanged looks filled with dread.

"Miss Granger, we've never spoken about what happened in Vienna—"

"Nothing happened! I assure you, Madam. Nothing happened at all. The Major obviously had been drinking and forgot himself…"

The other woman squeezed her hand and let go, taking a quick sip of her own tea.

"Nothing happened, I know. But it was not for his lack of trying." She took a deep breath before continuing. "Things have been so strained between us since that time. We've never talked about it. It isn't the done thing, is it? Things like this go on all the time, and we might all well be aware of it, but somehow we must never speak of it. Miss Granger, I've come to value you. You are almost like a friend to me, and yet, I feel as if I have tossed you under the carriage wheels to preserve an illusion." She looked around the parlor. "It was such a pretty illusion."

Hermione sipped her tea and waited for her employer to come back from wherever she'd briefly gone to.

"Did I ever tell you my father was an army blacksmith?"

"No, madam."

"He was. My mother followed him as he trudged up and down Europe, trailing after the army in search of work, dragging us children behind, like ribbons on a kite. The Major was so handsome then, such a dashing young man, with high morals and a wonderful sense of honor. He saved me from that life. I have been struggling these long years to be worthy of him."

"You have done exceedingly well, madam."

"Have I? The one thing I decided not to do was drag our own children around Europe after him. War is not a place for children, Miss Granger. Even after the war was over, I knew that it would be years before France was restored to any semblance of civilization. I returned to England, making up for my absence with an endless stream of impassioned letters.

"How very foolish I've been. Had I stayed with him, perhaps he would not have become the dissolute, pathetic lecher that he is now."

"Or he might have," Hermione added gently, "and you wouldn't have had these years of tranquil ignorance to raise your children properly."

Mrs. Penry-Jones looked at her with sharp eyes. "I like that. That's a fine way to put it."

She finished her tea and set her cup and saucer down on the table.

"The fact of the matter is, my husband is now a man lacking any moral character, and I must find a way to deal with it. Broken hearts, and shattered illusions aside, I feel it is my duty to protect you from the man when he returns. You and I both know that he will chase you up one side of the house and down the other, and it is only a matter of time before he catches you.

"I want you to start looking for another position. Another household. You have about three months before he returns. I will give you the best of references, and pay you your full year's salary. I will even look amongst my own circle for a recommendation for you. In return, I would like _your _recommendation for a new governess. Preferably one who is old, warty, hunchbacked, and with a gimpy leg would be nice. I don't want any potential victims in this house. I'm finding a position for Martha, as well. She's far too pretty and far too timid. She would never box his ears like you did."

Hermione flushed, remembering how furious she had been to find herself pinned against the wall in a back hallway by a fat man with stinking breath. Her blow had knocked him to his knees more from shock than strength.

"But what about you? These precautions are wise, and I thank you for giving me the luxury of notice and the generous severance, but you will still be here. Won't you be the last victim available when he arrives?"

Mrs. Penry-Jones' face turned pensive. "It might seem as if I gambled and lost the marriage stakes, Miss Granger, but I won. I have a good home and beautiful children. I have the company of good friends and acquaintances to keep me happy. My life could have been like that of my two sisters, who ended their days too soon and too young, working as camp followers during the war and receiving the pox for their pay. Such is our lot in life. We struggle against fate as best we may, but it is my belief that Providence doesn't like our sex, so even a win is a loss, to some degree."

She stood up, signaling an end to the conversation. "I envy you, Miss Granger. You have a way to earn your living without the need for a man. If I could counsel you, it would be to avoid the creatures utterly."

"I don't think that will be a problem, madam."

Mrs. Penry-Jones eyed her from head to toe. "Sadly, I think it will be, Miss Granger. Someone will find a way to clip your wings, eventually. You have too much of what they want for one of them not to decide it is his duty to bind you and smother it."

Hermione didn't know how to reply to this, so she didn't. She just curtsied respectfully and took her leave.

* * *

Hermione watched the children chasing after each other, occasionally calling for young Patricia to stop trying to hit people with the cricket bat that she had insisted on bringing along. Her youngest charge had chosen random acts of violence as a means of expressing her grief at Hermione's impending departure.

There were far fewer people in the park. The weather was far too bitter. She shoved her hands deeper into her muff and stamped her feet, trying to stay warm. The children needed more time to run and make noise to let out their anxiety and wouldn't let even the cold stop them.

She watched them playing with a heavy heart. She had come to care a great deal for them, and was as upset as they were to be leaving. However, as soon as she thought of the impending arrival of the Major, her sadness froze into a lump of panic. She simply had to be out of this house before he returned.

She had written to her Aunt Alice and told her that she might be coming for an extended stay, if she couldn't find a suitable position before the beginning of March.

So far, she had gone on three interviews but had been dissatisfied with all of them. She smirked, remembering how each matron had reacted when they realized they were being interviewed on their acceptability, not the other way around.

Unfortunately, she was running out of time to find another option. She wanted to further her plan of saving up as much as possible, with the hopes of eventually opening her own bookshop, specializing in scientific and medical books. She thought that might be the closest she could come to achieving her dream. She'd been rejected by all the Universities, and the few physicians she had applied to for an apprenticeship had thought she had been perpetrating a peculiar jest. They didn't find it humorous.

She stamped her feet some more, trying to restore feeling, and brought her muff up to her face and buried her frozen nose into it. It was about time to call the children back before they all turned to ice.

She felt a tingling warmth flow down her body, chasing every bit of chill away, and her head flew up in surprise. She stared in shock at the man slipping a wand into his sleeve.

"Mr. Snape!"

If she were to tally all the people that she might have considered suddenly appearing before her out of the blue, he would not have been even remotely near the list.

"What brings you to this part of London?" she asked in a cloud of breath.

"I came looking for you," he said, staring off at the children.

He looked so different in his greatcoat and tall hat. It had been such a long time since she had seen him dressed so in her parents' sitting room. The Muggle clothes didn't seem to suit him, although they were fine and he wore them well.

"You have found me, sir."

He swung his head around and pinned her with a stare. "So I have. How was the Continent, Miss Granger?"

"It was… less enjoyable than the _idea_ of the Continent. Although the food was very good. We returned just after the new year."

He again pinned her with a look she couldn't define. "I know."

She shivered and looked at her charges, the brim of her bonnet blocking him from sight. It occurred to her that he might just be standing entirely too close.

"I stopped at the house first, and your employer told me you were in the park with the children."

"And what brought you out looking for me on such a cold and miserable day?"

"A small matter of business, actually. I have been made to understand, by your aunt in a roundabout way, that you are seeking a new position."

"Yes. I have only a few weeks left at my present one."

"And have you found one?"

"Not yet, no."

"I would like to offer you one, Miss Granger. If you are, indeed, interested."

She turned around and stared at him, searching his face for some clue that would help her to better understand his intent.

"You need a governess?"

"I am past needing a governess. In actuality, I need a miracle worker. What do you know about Muggle peerage and its myriad and sundry rules of etiquette, Miss Granger?"

"Actually, I have become a bit of an expert in that department, since my employer had nearly no knowledge of the subject and was especially concerned that her children should not suffer for her lack."

"Excellent. I can offer you a salary of forty pounds a year."

Hermione's eyes bulged. That was an obscene amount for a retired teacher to pay. Her brows snapped down as she became suddenly suspicious.

"My aunt put you up to this, didn't she? I bet she's even the one who will be paying my salary, isn't she? I don't need _rescuing_, Mr. Snape. Haven't you spent enough time chasing after students and cleaning up messes? I can't believe she would do this! And to send you of all people! It's indecent! You don't need a governess; you are a retired teacher! You have all day to instruct your children!"

It was his turn to have his brows snap down. She cut off her words, as his face became an ode to irritation. She remembered _that _look well from school.

"Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to return your charges to their home and give me thirty minutes of your time, I can prove my intent is not an act of charity and that I am not suffering from a misplaced excess of altruism."

She stared at him for a long moment, before she turned her head and called to her charges.

* * *

The children walked ahead of them out of the park and turned up the street toward their home. They were subdued and intimidated by the tall man that scowled at them whenever they turned to stare.

Hermione was as well.

She'd spent the last year and a half thinking of little else but the man walking beside her and was beginning to suspect she might actually be home, sick in bed and delirious, not on her way to see about a position in his household.

A young sweep came scurrying up and cleared the street before them and whipped off his tattered cap with a gap-toothed smile. Hermione was still digging into her reticule when Mr. Snape flicked a coin. The boy snatched it out of the air with practiced ease and shouted his thanks.

"That was very kind of you, sir. Most people take no notice of them. "

"I can't help but notice them," he replied. "That coin will buy a bowl of soup for him and his family and even a bit of medicine for his ailing mother, or father, or sister, or old granny."

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "You know an awful lot about Muggle street sweeps for a wizard."

He scowled darkly down on her. "I have an exhaustive knowledge on the subject, Miss Granger."

"I admit to being rather surprised that you would care to know anything at all about them."

"I used to _be_ one of them," he snapped, looking away from her in anger.

She winced and resolved to keep her mouth shut from here on in, since she seemed to have made a rather large mess of things so far. Obviously there was an enormous amount she didn't know about the man, and it would be best if she kept her assumptions to herself in the future.

They gained the house, and Hermione took the children inside, explaining to the new parlor maid, Hilda, that she was going to go see about a possible new position and to tell the mistress she would be back soon. She stepped back outside and down the steps to where Mr. Snape was waiting impatiently. He gestured down the street, and they headed toward the alley that led to the mews. As soon as they were out of sight, he took her elbow, and she felt the world spin away.

When she stopped, she found herself clutching the flaps of Mr. Snape's coat and staring around hoping that she wasn't about to vomit on what was an obviously expensive Aubosson carpet.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

She nodded, trying to keep her stomach from rebelling, and stepped away from him. He dropped his hands from her arms and began stripping off his gloves, dropping them and his hat on a bergere chair that would have made Lady Granger weep with envy.

"Leave your outer things in here, Miss Granger," he commanded, as he unbuttoned his coat and dumped it in the chair as well. She pulled off her muff, bonnet, gloves, and her heavy pelisse and laid them carefully on a settee that she was sure cost more than her father had made in a year.

She looked at him and clasped her hands together, and he nodded and headed toward the door. They stepped out into an open foyer, with marble floors and two grand staircases sweeping up the sides. There was an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a uniformed footman standing against the wall. She followed him up the stairs, hurrying to keep up with the pace he set and when they gained the landing of the second floor, another footman snapped to attention.

"Where is everyone?" Snape demanded to know.

"Sir, the ladies are in the east. The Baron is in the west."

Mr. Snape turned and headed left down a long, carpeted hallway, lined with gilt frames, sconces, and doorways. When he came to a set of double doors, another footman turned and opened the door for him, quickly stepping back out of the way. Hermione followed her former teacher into the room and turned back to see the footman closing the door after her. She turned back to Mr. Snape knowing her eyes were as a large as saucers, but unable to hide the confusion and awe.

"Miss Granger, I present my children." He swept his arm toward the other three occupants of the room.

Hermione made a shallow curtsy, and the three of them stared mutely back at her.

He gestured to the young man seated at a desk with what looked like a ledger open in front of him. He had a round, open face with light brown hair and grey eyes. He was dressed just the same as Mr. Snape, black pantaloons, waistcoat and bottle-green coat, but with a considerably more subdued cravat.

"This is Simon Snape. We've decided he is twenty-one now. It adds more authority when he signs documents. He is apprenticing to be a land agent. Obviously you won't need to concern yourself with him; his behavior is above reproach in any case.

"Over here, we have Grace Elizabeth Snape." He gestured to the pretty little girl with delicate features nearly overwhelmed by enormous black eyes. She had glossy black hair that was swept back and held with combs and fell in long sausage curls down the back of her head. She looked like a doll—a doll that was holding a rather large, wooden sword.

"Grace is six, reads beginning level English, French, Latin, and Greek, spends half of her time pretending she is a pony and the other half trying to run the footmen through with her sword. There isn't a servant in the house that doesn't have a bruised chin.

"Finally, we come to Nigel Spanner Snape, who is seven." He flung his hand at a handsome lad with a thick head of curly hair the color of wheat, and powder-blue eyes.

Hermione had noticed the way the boy had placed himself in front of his sister during his father's listing of her misdemeanors.

"He is also rather academically advanced, leaning more toward excelling in mathematics and even more likely to cause serious injury to any servant who takes offense at his sister's antics. I suspect half of the footmen are now gelded.

"I need to point out, and I would like you to pay particular attention to this fact, Miss Granger, that as of this past spring, he is also The Right Honorable Lord Wrenham, after a long string of farcical events that culminated with the death of his grandfather, the previous Baron, at that time."

He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "As you pointed out, Miss Granger, I am quite capable of educating my children. However, as I recently explained, my upbringing is such that I find myself lacking the knowledge I require to give my son the skills he needs to survive the title that landed at his feet like a malfunctioning Snitch."

He walked over and stood in front of her. "My daughter is a witch. I need someone who has an understanding of both worlds, who can be discreet, who has an understanding of Muggle peerage and protocols, and who can understand the ludicrous position I am in. Are you that person, Miss Granger?"

She looked around the room at all the disparate faces. Obviously only one of these children actually belonged to Mr. Snape. The boys were clearly adopted, and yet he'd made no mention of it at all.

They all looked back at her with eyes that told of a history of sorrow, disappointment, and solidarity.

All four of them.

She tilted up her chin and said, "I am."

"I thought you might be. You were suspiciously qualified for the position." His eyes warmed, and behind him, Nigel and Grace both ran over to Simon and threw their arms around him as they jumped up and down. To her mind, for excited children, they were preternaturally quiet.

"Come. We shall return to the office and discuss the details."

He swept out of the room, and she was left staring at her new charges and their older brother.

"I look forward to seeing you all again soon," she said with a smile.

"As do we, Miss Granger," Simon replied in a warm voice.

Grace peeked around from behind her brother and quietly said, "Hurry back." She disappeared back out of sight, and Hermione heard her excitedly whisper, "I told her to hurry back!"

Hermione smiled, as she headed out the door, and was startled by the footman that lunged to close it after her. She hurried down the steps and caught up with her former teacher and followed him down to the room where they'd arrived.

Once the door was closed, he walked over and poured two glasses of wine, handing her one before gesturing to one of the seats in front of the desk.

"Are you sure you can handle the job, Miss Granger?"

She sat and sipped her wine, finding it to be an excellent vintage. "Absolutely, especially if you are going to continue with the academics, which I assume you will."

He nodded and took the seat next to her.

"Teaching Nigel what he needs to know will be relatively easy. I'm also sure that I can stop Grace from mutilating the footmen."

"I don't give a damn about the footmen. It can be open season on the bloody footmen, for all I care. If they don't want to get bashed they should learn to run faster. This place is crawling with them, and they get under my skin. Wrenham was only a Baron. You'd have thought he was the damned Regent himself with the way he ran things. I've got bloody servants underfoot everywhere and the estate is squeezing the local population dry to pay for them all. To my mind, if all the footmen limped back where they came from, and took the maids with them, I would be quite happy."

Hermione blinked rapidly through his blunt and rather colorful diatribe, struggling to focus on what he was saying and not giggle with the feeling of euphoria curling through her belly. Nothing seemed real. Not the room. Not his clothes. Certainly not this house. And most definitely not the way he was speaking to her as an equal, to the point of not even softening his language out of deference to her sex.

She was thrilled.

It occurred to her that the sensation was not unlike that moment of rapture one experiences running down a hill, just _before_ the realization that your legs might not actually be able to keep up with your speed and panic sets in.

He lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, and she realized she'd lost track of the conversation. She took another sip of wine to cover her flustered grimace.

"I need to make some serious changes around here," he continued, "in order to protect what little there actually is for my son when he comes of age. Aside from my small family, there are his other relatives to deal with. The Dowager Lady Wrenham and her three unmarried daughters live here as well. As you can imagine, having me be in charge has left them with a permanent case of the vapors. I have yet to figure out what to do with them and only recently impressed upon them the futility of trying to turn my son against me. The staff is not to be trusted, with the exception of Mrs. Cropper, who is waging a war against the staff as we speak, the children's maid, Violet, and one of the cooks, Mrs. Crawley. The three of them came with us and know all about our idiosyncrasies.

"Simon and I are in the midst of putting together a full accounting of all the properties, houses, rents and debts for the estate. When I have a more complete understanding, I plan on shipping off the relatives and cutting the staff down to a reasonable number. It is my duty to preserve this monument to excess until Nigel is ready."

"That sounds like a noble undertaking."

"It is an exhausting one, and I freely admit that I am in over my head. I am used to managing my investments, but the scale of this undertaking is enormous. I want to fire the lot of them, but have come to find that we are, apparently, their only source of income in the area. We pay them a pittance and then squeeze it back out of their families in rents." He stopped and took a deep sip of his wine. "Some days it is very hard to wrap my mind around the turns my life has taken."

"I am rather more surprised to hear that there are days when you can," she said softly.

He smiled wryly and then his face became very serious. "I think you are more than familiar with how life can take a turn. I am fully aware of your circumstances, Miss Granger. I am… very sorry."

She blushed and looked down at her hands. "I don't want your pity, sir. I'm really very glad that you have a legitimate need of me and that this is not just a ruse of my aunt's. I am not a little girl anymore and no longer pray for heroes to come rushing to my rescue. I find rescuing myself rather empowering."

When she looked back up, he was scowling at her.

"Miss Granger, I think I should tell you that after your aunt informed me of your circumstances, I paid your grandmother a visit."

She grew alarmed. "What sort of visit?"

He waved his hand in irritation. "I didn't harm her, so you needn't look so frightened. However, you should probably know that when she shuffles off this mortal coil you will be six thousand pounds richer."

Her eyes flew wide. "You had her put me in her will? But she only owed me twenty two hundred!"

"Simon calculated interest, and I added penalties."

"Mr. Snape! This is—"

"Oh, spare me your indignity, Granger. If it helps to sooth your ruffled need to be a martyr, she looks to have at least a few years left. Although with the gout, it will be a decidedly painful few years, so there is that satisfaction."

"How did you accomplish such a deed? You didn't use any magical compulsion, surely!"

He smiled, and she grew even more alarmed. "Not at all. I just appealed to her sensibilities about what was important in life."

She stared at him as he stood and picked up his greatcoat. "I don't know what to say…" she whispered.

"'Thank you' would be polite, however I suspect that would be asking too much. Come. I need to get you home. How soon can you start, by the way?"

She blinked several times, trying to arrange her thoughts.

"I can start on the first."

"Excellent. I shall come to pick you up at noon on the first."

* * *

*waggles eyebrows*

And you doubted me...


	28. Welcome

AN: Time to move on to a new job...

* * *

"Children, take your leave of Miss Granger and show her you've all learned your manners well," said Mrs. Penry-Jones.

Bertie came forward first and showed an elegant leg, indeed, as he swept his arm up and bowed deep enough for royalty.

"_Au revoir_, Miss Granger. Thank you, for teaching us so well. I shall miss you."

"Thank you, Bertie. It has been an honor. Remember to mind your French and be respectful to Miss. Pitney when you meet her."

"I shall, ma'am."

Evangeline came forward next and curtsied prettily, saying, "Good luck in your new position, Miss Granger. I shall miss you ever so much and will write to you every day."

"Thank you, Eva. I shall miss you as well. I shall look forward to your letters."

Patricia came forward next, but whatever she had rehearsed to say was lost as she threw herself at Hermione's skirts.

"But why do you have to leave? I don't want you to go!"

Hermione leaned down and hugged the girl. "Dear, listen to me. Do you remember how much fun we made it learning to be a young lady? And how you enjoy being a little lady now?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But don't you feel like you're not quite a real lady yet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, there is a little girl out there who runs amok trying to stab all the servants with a toy sword. I must go and teach her how much fun it is to be a lady, and Miss Pitney must come and finish working with you. She is going to do such a good job that when she is done, you really will be a lady!"

Patricia didn't look particularly convinced as her sister took her hand and drew her out of the room with her brother.

Hermione pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

"You will write and tell me how they are getting on?" she asked.

"Of course I will," said Mrs. Penry-Jones. "And you simply must tell me all about this little baron and his wild sister?"

"I shall. I will miss you, terribly. This place was a home to me during a dreadful time. I can never express how much I have come to value it."

"I feel the same, Hermione. This house will not be the same without you. You must come to visit whenever you are in London, or I shall be quite put out."

"I promise."

The clock on the mantle struck noon, and Hermione gathered up her things, shrugging into her pelisse and gloves before tying her bonnet on her head. She was still putting her gloves on when there was a knock at the door.

"Is it shameful that I am curious about this rich widower? He's not much to look at, but he is rather mesmerizing in his own way. I admit that I have a hope that he takes a fancy to you and you end up a very wealthy wife."

Hermione laughed. "That is highly unlikely. He is far too sensible for that sort of thing."

They fell into a hush as they heard boots in the hallway, and then suddenly he was there, looking tall and severe and intimidating, wearing his greatcoat and holding his hat and walking stick.

"Mrs. Penry-Jones, I hope you are in good health. Miss Granger? Are ready to go?"

The two women hugged each other tightly before Hermione turned and followed her new employer out the door.

Her trunks had already been set outside the door, so when she came out, she saw that they had just finished being loaded. She recognized Mr. Shunpike, but he seemed curiously subdued and wouldn't make eye contact with anyone.

He opened the door to the coach, but it was Mr. Snape who helped her in. He climbed in after her and sat down next to her on the seat. It occurred to her that she was just as nervous as the first time she had climbed into a carriage with this man.

When they were underway, she turned to him and said, "Here we are again, after all these years."

"So we are," he replied, looking out the window. He turned to her with a glittering light in his eye and said, "Tell me, Miss Granger. How old were you when you figured out what 'clap-addled boat-licker' actually meant?"

She barked a surprised laugh and threw her hands in front of her face, knowing she was blushing scarlet. "I was really hoping you would have forgotten all about that! Oh, you are an awful man! A gentleman would never have brought that up!"

He chuckled deeply, and replied, "Miss Granger, I make no claims on being a gentleman. You should know that right now."

"Nonsense. You are the best of men and the finest gentlemen I know."

"And you are evading the question."

"Ugh! I was fifteen, and I think I hyperventilated for a good thirty minutes, while gasping, 'Oh, dear lord!' over and over. I still cannot believe you didn't throw me out into the street and have Mr. Shunpike drive away."

"I contemplated that exact action, but then it occurred to me that the Headmaster would just make me go back and fetch you."

"I'm very glad you didn't toss me out. As I remember, it was rather wet that night."

"It was miserable. I detest getting wet." He sighed and looked out the window. "I recall being especially annoyed because I always hated Muggles. How strange. Now I practically am one." He turned to her. "And so are you. An odd result for me taking you off to a Wizarding school."

"I suspect it is because we are odd people, Mr. Snape."

He smirked and turned back to the window. "I do believe you're right, Miss Granger."

The sway of the coach lulled them into quietude.

Magic being what it was, the journey from London to Gloucester only took a little over two hours. Conversation was sparse, but the silence was comfortable.

Hermione looked out the window at the passing countryside, a landscape of winter greys and earthy browns, and drifted off to sleep. She dreamed of riding in a coach with her mother on their way to Ottery St. Catchpole, chattering on about the future as if it was a bright and shiny new toy they had both been longing for.

She woke with a start when the coach hit a rut in the road hard, as it turned onto an avenue. She flung her hand out, whether to catch herself, or to reach for her mother, she wasn't sure.

A strong hand clasped her elbow and drew her back against the seat.

"Steady. We've only arrived, no need for alarm."

Hermione turned to him and tried to smile past her disorientation and then looked out the window next to him to see the grand manor house appear beyond the tree-lined avenue. She leaned across him and stared. It was much bigger than she had imagined from the inside that day two weeks ago.

"It is very impressive, isn't it?"

"If that's your idea of impressive," he said. "Personally, I find it disturbing."

She turned her head and realized she was alarmingly close to him. His nose really was rather singular.

"Why disturbing?" she asked softly, sitting back against the seat.

He glanced out the window and then back at her.

"I haven't found the place where I feel I belong in this world yet," he said just as softly. "But if there is a place that represents where I don't, surely it is here."

"I understand," she said.

He gave her the smallest of smiles. "You do, don't you?"

"Oh, yes."

They pulled up in front of the wide portico entrance and a team of footmen came out and lined up. Mr. Snape got out first, and then turned and helped Hermione down. Stan Shunpike was already up on top, handing down her luggage, and the old driver, whose name she'd never learned, sat huddled into a ball gripping the reins and looking like he was taking a nap.

First down was her traveling valise, which she took and kept hold of. Next came a hatbox, followed by a small chest, the first footman took both of these. After that came a standard sized trunk, and Stan called out a warning as the two footman underneath struggled with the weight.

"Good heavens, Miss Granger; how much clothing did you force in there?" Mr. Snape asked her.

She laughed. "That's not my clothing, I assure you. Those are my books. They were my one indulgence these last years."

"I should have known. But where is your clothing?"

She frowned at him in confusion, and pointed to the small chest, tucked under the footman's arm, and the hatbox.

He scowled darkly and turned away. She watched the Knight Coach leave down the avenue and then hurried to catch up with him.

"Sir, what was wrong with Mr. Shunpike?"

"The war, Miss Granger. The fool tried to impress people, saying he knew secrets about the Death Eaters, and was thrown into Azkaban for his idiocy. There he ran afoul of the actual article and was swept up into the madness. He spent the last years of the war under an Imperius Curse fighting alongside real Death Eaters. The curse only wore off when the Dark Lord was defeated. He wasn't released for another six months."

She stopped and turned back, but there was nothing to see. The coach had disappeared as soon as everyone's back was turned.

"That poor man. Can nothing be done for him?"

"One could ask the same of you, Miss Granger."

She spun around to face him, but he was waving over a servant.

"This is Mrs. Cropper. She is _my_ housekeeper. She will show you to your room and familiarize you with the house." He turned to face her and said, "Welcome to Wrenham Park, Miss Granger." He gave her a small bow and then left her standing there.

* * *

"If you please, Miss. Right this way."

Mrs. Cropper took her valise from her and led her through the door, across the grand foyer, and toward the sweeping stairs.

"The master made a few changes in the last week, and we're all still getting used to them, but I think I've got everyone squared away now. Your room is this way."

"What sort of changes?" she asked.

"Well, when we first arrived, the Dowager assigned the rooms. The children were kept upstairs near the nursery, and Mr. Simon was given a small room in a cottage behind the stables. Mr. Snape had a room in this wing, and they were pretty well spread out all over the place. It didn't make a difference. When Violet would go looking for them in the morning, it was almost guaranteed that she would find them all in the master's room. He eventually managed to put another bed in there, and the four of them all stayed together."

"What made him change?"

"Well, I shouldn't like to repeat gossip, so I will say that I am not sure of the facts, but from what I overheard below stairs, when the Dowager heard Mr. Snape had hired a governess, she ordered the old governess's room cleaned up. It had been turned into storage in the attic and from what I heard, wasn't fit for mice. Mr. Snape decided to inspect it and went a bit spare.

"Long story's end, he took over this entire corridor and banished the footmen, and nearly every other servant as well, with the exception of myself and Violet. The rest of the servants think we are horridly overworked, but the master flicks his little stick and the rooms are as neat as a pin in a thrice.

"He's a very peculiar man, but I would walk through fire for him; you can take that to heart.

"Here we have the drawing room. It's referred to as the 'west room' by the rest of the house. Across here, we now have Mr. Snape's office. It used to be the former Earl's bedroom, before Mr. Snape had the furniture carted off to storage and took it over. He and Mr. Simon spend most of their time in there. Over here is Mr. Simon's room, and across here is the children's schoolroom. Next we have Mr. Snape's room, and just past it, is the little Lord's. The room on the very end is a watercloset, just so you know. I'd never seen one before, but apparently the late Baron thought they were all the rage and had four installed in the house when he had it remodeled seven years ago. I do rather like them, if I may be so bold as to say.

"Your room is right here, and next to you, on the end, is Miss Grace's."

The housekeeper turned the knob on yet another door painted a creamy white, with gilded carving, and it opened into an opulent room that was painted lemon yellow and dominated by a ludicrously large bed with heavy gold hangings. Nearly half of the bed was taken up with embroidered and frilled cushions of varying sizes. There were three floor-to-ceiling windows hung with matching gold velvet curtains, four floor-to-ceiling mirrors with gilded frames, two enormous paintings of rather corpulent women, three huge wardrobes, two large chest of drawers, two more of the expensive bergere chairs that had been in the downstairs office, only these were covered in gold velvet with gilded arms, and a dressing table with a much more reasonable-looking chair. One corner was sectioned off with a large folding screen, behind which, she assumed, was a wash stand.

In the middle of the floor sat her luggage.

"This was the Baroness' room, before the death of her husband," said Mrs. Cropper with a glint in her eye.

Hermione tried to smile, but it wobbled sideways and ended up a grimace. "A tad grand for a governess, don't you think?"

Mrs. Cropper laughed. "Exactly. Mr. Snape is ever out to devil the Dowager and the Misses Beaton. They'll be all-a-mort when they hear we've tucked you in well. Don't you let them twit you—and they will, mark my words. Let them say what they will, they've naught to do about it. This is your room until the master says otherwise."

Hermione suppressed a giggle. "Thanks for the warning."

Mrs. Cropper nodded her head and made for the trunks, saying, "Let's get you settled in, then, shall we?"

Hermione looked about the room, wondering if that was even possible.

There was a knock on the still-open door and then a footman stepped inside. "Begging your pardon, miss. Mr. Snape told us to bring you this." He walked back out and came back in, carrying one end of a large bookcase, with another footman struggling with the other. "Where would you like it?"

Hermione beamed at them. "Wherever it will fit. Thank you."

Mrs. Cropper leaned in and murmured, "And thus, the Dowager finds out what room you are in."

Hermione grimaced.

* * *

Snape sat near the fire with one booted foot on the stool in front of him, sipping his tea and watching the children trying not to fidget. Even Simon kept looking up from his ledgers toward the door.

Finally, the door opened, and Miss Granger entered the drawing room. He stood up, as did Simon, but he had to give Nigel a scowl before the boy realized he was supposed to stand up, as well.

"Miss Granger," he said. "Glad you could join us. Make yourself comfortable. How do you take your tea?"

"Just a little sugar, sir, thank you."

He pulled out his wand and flicked it at the pot, and Grace giggled as it poured itself.

Miss Granger sat next to Grace with nod and a smile to everyone and picked up her cup and saucer.

Grace stared up at her with a small smile, and Nigel tried to make up for his early faux pas by picking up the plate of thinly sliced bread and butter and offering it to her.

"Thank you, your lordship," she said with a smile.

The boy's face fell and he said, "Do I have to be a lord? Can't I just be Nigel?"

"No, my lord," she said with a smile. "To become a Baron, one must learn to think like a Baron, and that is very hard to do if you see yourself as 'just Nigel.' Don't worry, I'll show you how much fun being a lord can be, and when you are older, you can start an exclusive club of special people that are allowed to call you Nigel."

"How exclusive will it be?"

"Highly, my lord."

"Will Grace be in it?"

"Of course."

"And Simon?"

"Absolutely."

"And father?"

"Without a doubt."

"What about you?"

She smiled and lightly touched the end of his nose. "That remains to be seen. I think I have to earn the right, first."

Nigel nodded his head slowly. "That makes sense. I've only just met you, haven't I?"

"Exactly, my lord."

"I shall wait at least until tomorrow to decide."

Miss Granger gave him a little laugh and bowed her head. "Tomorrow, I will tell you more about being a Baron, and when you have some further information, you can then make your decision. How does that sound?"

"Alright." He waved the platter at her again, although she hadn't taken a bite of her first. "More bread?"

She took a second one and set it on top of the first, on her saucer. "You are very generous, my lord. Thank you."

Snape reached over and fixed himself another cup of tea without magic.

"Have you settled in, Miss Granger?" he asked.

She gave him a look that spoke volumes about her opinion of her rooms, and he smirked.

"I should say that I am unpacked but a bit unsettled."

He frowned. "Too unsettled? I could find you a different room, but that was the last in this part of the house, and I wanted you close to the children."

"If that is the case, I shall adapt, sir. However, in the future I would kindly ask you not to make me a pawn in any games that I am walking into blind."

He smirked and nodded his head.

Grace finally decided it was safe to pipe up. "Sometimes we get scared at night. We always go and sleep with my father, or Simon if Papa is not home. If you get scared, you can go and sleep with Papa, too."

Snape's eyes flew wide, and Miss Granger blushed crimson.

"Grace!" cried Nigel. "Don't be absurd. She won't fit in father's bed with us in there already. She'd have to go sleep with—"

Snape was still lifting his wand to cast a Silencing Charm, when Simon lunged forward and slapped his hand over Nigel's mouth.

"Don't make me throttle you, _my lord_. They're running out of heirs around these parts," Simon threatened, also blushing like a beetroot.

Snape took several breaths to calm his sudden fury. Nigel's eyes were as big as saucers, and he was obviously confused. There was no reason to snap at him. "Nigel, we don't speak about where a lady sleeps," he intoned.

"But—"

"Enough," he said.

Nigel sat down in his chair, and Miss Granger leaned over and patted his hand. "It's very confusing, isn't it? Trying to know all the rules of what to say and what not to say?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," he mumbled.

"That's why I'm here. If you're to make a mistake, I'm the one you get to make all of them with, so you learn without any unnecessary embarrassment."

Nigel sent her a grateful look. "That would be very helpful, thank you."

They finished their tea in an uncomfortable silence. None of the adults in the room would look at one another.

Finally, Miss Granger turned to Grace and said, "Tell me about yourself, Miss Snape."

"I'm a witch!" she whispered loudly. "It's a secret, but Papa said you already knew."

"I did, indeed. You are two very special children, with one being a baron and the other being a witch."

"My father says you're a witch too," Grace said. "But he says you don't want to be, so you can't show me any magic. Is this true?"

Miss Granger's eyes widened, and she gave him an indignant, hurt look. "I'm sorry, Miss Snape, I cannot show you magic."

"Don't you like magic?"

"It's not a matter of like, or dislike. I simply cannot do magic anymore."

"I can, but I'm not allowed to except in here, when Papa is nearby. Can I show you a magic I can do?"

Miss Granger looked to Snape, and he nodded his consent.

"I would like that," she replied.

Grace closed her eyes and then smiled and opened them again and lifted up both of her hands toward the new governess. There was a flash of light that made him avert his eyes, and when he looked back, Miss Granger's hair was still in the process of cascading down her shoulders, as pins dropped to the table and floor.

"It didn't work," said Grace. "I was going to make it black, like mine."

He stopped breathing.

He'd never seen a woman's hair in its natural condition before. Elspeth had either worn her hair braided to bed if it was summer, or braided under a cap, if it was winter. He'd never had the excess of leisure with other women to see them in such a state of _déshabillé_ before. Naked, yes. But with their hair flowing down to their elbows in sensual waves and ringlets? No.

Even fully dressed in a conservative grey dress, Miss Granger was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

She grabbed at her hair and hastily twisted it back up into a shapeless lump on top of her head.

"That was a very clever trick, Miss Snape, but in the future, let us not do magic on each other, shall we?" said an obviously mortified Miss Granger. "Now, can the two of you help me pick up all the pins?"

Snape blinked and looked over at Simon and saw what was most likely the same lustful expression he wore. He jumped up out of his chair, grabbed Simon by his elbow, and snatched him up as well.

"Miss Granger, I— Please forgive my— Dinner will be at eight," he snapped, and dragged Simon out of the room.

Out in the hallway, once the door was closed behind them, the two men looked at each other, dazed.

"That was…" said Simon, looking back at the closed door.

"Indeed."

"I've never…"

"Nor I."

"I've left the ledgers in there," said Simon.

"I left my wand," said Snape.

"Oh, I've got my wand," Simon quipped.

Snape gave him a withering stare.

* * *

*gigglesnort*


	29. Relating

**AN:** Meet the Dowager...

* * *

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and smoothed down one errant curl that insisted on playing right by her temple, only to have it spring back up. She'd taken pains to pull her hair back into the severe style that she'd worn at her grandmother's house as best as she could without the use of hot irons. She'd done so more for herself than anything else. She'd hoped it might help erase the memory of her hair spilling down like a common harlot's. Grace might as well have Vanished Hermione's clothes. She burned with shame at the memory of how Mr. Snape and Simon had bolted from the room in shock.

She sighed. Grace and Nigel were lovely children. Not nearly as wild as Mr. Snape had made them out to be, and nowhere near what the Penry-Jones children had been like when she'd first arrived at that house. Nigel and Grace were both very bright and very eager to please. They'd had a lovely conversation about manners while she'd blindly stabbed her pins back into her head. She'd even let Nigel and Grace help when they offered.

It had not been an auspicious start to her new job. This was going to be difficult enough for her without inadvertent humiliations.

She'd spent the last two weeks steeling herself up to be just an employee. She'd replayed Mrs. Penry-Jones' welcoming speech in her head over and over, to remind herself of her place. She'd reread the book she'd been given to get a solid understanding of all that would be expected of her, because she had basically tossed it by the wayside rather soon after working there. She constantly repeated to herself that nothing would ever come of her childish bemusement with the man, in order to try and excise her constant flights of fancy.

She wasn't sure she would be able to succeed. It was as if she vibrated like a plucked harp string when he was near. Her attraction to the man was going to be very, very hard to beat into submission.

Especially with the way he spoke to her. She wondered if he was conscious of how inappropriate his discourse was by Muggle standards. The way he spoke to her as an equal demanded she respond in kind, and she did, every single time. She assumed it was because he was a wizard and had spent much of his life in that world, where men and women were equal and concessions for the delicate sensibilities of the fairer sex were nearly unheard of. That was the largest impression she took away from that Ministry ball—aside from a full-on obsession with the man himself—the understanding of just how free a woman was in the other world. It was almost enough to make her attempt to overcome the pain of being without her magic and try to rejoin their world, but she was fairly sure she wouldn't receive the same equal treatment being that she was, in fact, a useless Muggle.

She did have a hard time reigning in her thoughts when it came to her deeper understanding of how forward witches were with their men. She'd blushed to the roots of her hair and nearly fainted dead away when Ginny had confirmed her suspicions. She'd slept with Harry _before_ they'd married. In fact, she'd nearly had relations with Dean Thomas before that. Witches didn't have to wait until marriage to do _anything_.

The places that knowledge led her thoughts were not to be countenanced in this household. She was here to do a job, and that was _all._

She smoothed down the skirts of her light-grey dress and blew out a breath before turning away.

There was a knock at her door just as she reached it. Her heart began to flutter, and she swore at herself under her breath.

She put on her best polite smile and opened it.

"Good evening, Miss Granger. I was wondering if you would allow me to escort you down to dinner."

Nigel gave her his best bow and held out his arm just so. Grace giggled behind him. They had gone over a few things after tea, and he was obviously pleased with himself.

Hermione sank into a deep curtsy and said, "I would be honored, my lord."

She placed her hand on top of his wrist, and together the three of them proceeded along the hallway and down the stairs to the dining room.

The room was enormous, with a long, linen-covered table, set with the finest china and silver. The room was ablaze with candlelight from sconces and candelabra, and there were a total of three festive centerpieces.

Simon was chatting quietly with a pretty young girl with blonde hair the same color as Nigel's, and two more women, both slightly older than Hermione, stood off in a corner with a woman who could only be the Dowager, Lady Wrenham. There was no denying Nigel's relationship with any of them, they were all clearly cut from the same cloth.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Simon said with a smile.

"Good evening, Mr. Snape."

"Allow me to make an introduction. This is Miss Clara Beaton."

Hermione curtsied to the young woman.

"Welcome to Wrenham Park, Miss Granger."

"Thank you. It is a pleasure, to be sure, Miss Clara."

"May I present my mother, Lady Wrenham?"

Hermione dropped into a respectable curtsy. "Lady Wrenham, it is a pleasure."

The Dowager looked at her for just long enough to be rude, but not overly so, and then said, "Welcome," with all the warmth of a block of ice.

"And these are my sisters, Miss Beaton, and Miss Mary Beaton."

Hermione made a shallower curtsy to both of them, and they, like their mother danced on the edge of a cut, before offering bland greetings.

The sound of footsteps made her turn, and she saw Mr. Snape looking elegant in his formal evening coat and ivory waistcoat. His cravat was elaborately tied high on his neck, and he wore white stockings and low-heeled shoes. Hermione tried not to flush.

"If we are all done with the calisthenics, perhaps we could eat," he snapped, walking over to a chair nearest the head of the table.

A troop of footmen moved forward and pulled out seats, and Nigel walked over to the head of the table and was seated. Hermione held herself back, unsure which seat was hers until Mr. Snape dismissed a footman with a wave and pulled out the chair next to him and nodded his head to her. Grace was seated across from her father, And Hermione ended up across from Simon. Miss Clare sat next to her, and Miss Mary sat next to Simon with obvious distain. Miss Beaton sat next to her, and Lady Wrenham took her seat at the other end of the table.

At a signal from the Dowager, the footmen brought in the dishes. The dinner consisted of jugged hare, potted venison, stewed celery, creamed asparagus, roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, roast beef, and an eel pie.

Hermione stared at the nearly ludicrous amount of food presented for nine people. Her grandmother had liked her food and always had a good table, but she had been parsimonious to a fault, and there was never more food than could be eaten. This was an embarrassment of riches, and unless the servants ate the rest of it, which she knew most houses didn't allow, it was a terrible waste.

The footmen served each item, and she was surprised to find that, despite the number of dishes, she actually ended up with little on her plate. She looked around and saw that this was true of all of the women, but not the two men.

Dinner conversation seemed to be equally lopsided, apparently restricted to the Beatons. Hermione gave up trying to follow it, when it became apparent that she was not to be included.

She ate a bit of everything, finding only the beef, celery, and Yorkshire pudding to her taste, and put her fork down, still hungry. How did one ruin a potato?

Next to her, Mr. Snape turned and waved a hand at two of the footmen behind him and they came hurrying up to offer him some more roast and pudding.

"Not me, you fools, her," he snapped. "The ladies might prefer to starve themselves, but Miss Granger will need her strength."

She smiled her thanks as she was given another helping, but he had turned his face back to his own plate.

The conversation to her left stopped completely.

"By all means, Miss Granger," said Lady Wrenham. "Help yourself to _our_ food. My apologies if our offered bounty wasn't enough."

Hermione froze with her fork halfway to her mouth, unsure what to do.

Miss Clara cleared her throat and said, "You eat up, Miss Granger. Not all of us sit around like useless creatures. In fact," she turned to the footman, "may I have some more of the beef as well?"

Hermione gave her a grateful look and received a timid smile in response.

Lady Wrenham sniffed loudly as her youngest daughter began cutting into her second helping, and Mr. Snape took exception.

He turned to Nigel and said, "Who does this house belong to?"

"Me, sir."

"Who else does it belong to?"

"No one, sir, it is all mine."

"So who does this food belong to?"

"Me, sir."

"And do you mind if Miss Granger and Miss Clara Beaton have enough to fill their stomachs?"

"Not at all, sir. In fact, they can eat all of the jugged hare if they want. I don't like it at all."

Snape smirked and turned toward the footmen. "Tell the cooks that in the future, jugged hare is not to be served at table when his lordship is present."

"Yes, sir." The footman hurried off immediately.

The ensuing silence was such that all one could hear was the clicking of Mr. Snape's utensils and the hissing of candle fat.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," the Dowager began in a tight voice, "as a governess, what are your views about children eating at table?"

Hermione looked over at the Baroness and gave her a smile. "My lady, I find that children are inherently good at mimicry, and if one wants to teach them how to comport themselves in society, one could hardly do wrong by showing them an example of good manners at table. In the case of young Lord Wrenham, it would seem to me that you would provide the best example."

Mr. Simon snorted indelicately as Lady Wrenham stared daggers at her.

Hermione raised her chin and held her ground.

The trifle was served, but Hermione declined it, not wanting to appear gluttonous.

"And how do you find your room, Miss Granger?" Lady Wrenham asked waspishly.

Hermione couldn't help the embarrassed blush that stained her cheeks. The idea of placing a governess in a room such as that was ludicrous to all good society. Even Hermione squirmed at the outrage. However, Mr. Snape more than deserved her loyalty, so she lifted her head and replied, "The room is very fine, my lady, however, I find yellow to be such an excitable color. It is my hope that I will adjust to it."

Any reply the Dowager Baroness contemplated making was cut off when Mr. Snape and Mr. Simon both rose from the table. It was obvious that he was leaving the table, instead of having the ladies withdraw first, as was customary.

Hermione looked up at her employer, and for a moment, she thought she saw just a hint of warmth in his regard before it faded into a mask of distain when he looked at the rest of the diners.

"Miss Granger, see to your charges, and then I would like to have a word with you in my office, if you will."

"Yes, sir," she replied, wondering if this reversal of protocol was another intentional slight.

The men left the room, and she immediately rose out of her seat, signaling to Grace and Nigel.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, ladies," she said, with a genuine look of happiness as she glanced at Miss Clara Beaton. She hurried her charges out of the room and herded them up the stairs.

The children's maid, Violet, was waiting at the top of the stairs. Together they got the children to their rooms, where Hermione volunteered to tuck in Grace, and Violet took care of Nigel.

After brushing out and tying up Grace's hair, so it would be curled in the morning, she read the sleepy child a story, blew out the candle, and kissed her on the forehead.

Grace gave her a drowsy hug and then closed her eyes.

Hermione walked down the long, carpeted hallway to the office door and knocked.

"Enter."

Inside, she found a large room lined with books, and lit with several candles and a warm fire. A large desk held pride of place.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," her employer said.

Mr. Simon and Mr. Snape were standing by the fire. At a signal from Snape, Simon set his glass of wine down.

"Miss Granger, I will leave you and Severus to your meeting. Allow me to say I had a most enjoyable dinner, thanks to you. Welcome to Wrenham. I suspect we will all be better for your arrival."

Hermione beamed at him, "Thank you, Mr. Simon. I am very happy to be here."

"I look forward to talking with you more tomorrow."

"I shall look forward to it, as well."

When the door had closed behind him, Mr. Snape gestured to a comfortable chair before the fire. "Wine?"

"A glass would be most welcome, thank you."

He poured another glass and brought it to her, seating himself in the chair opposite.

"How do you find Wrenham, Miss Granger?"

She sipped her wine and thought about how best to reply.

"There is much to like about it, sir. Your children are enchanting, and I will enjoy working with them very much. You have done well by them."

He looked into the fire and murmured, "Simon and their mother did well by them. I was not around much until this past year. Simon raised them nearly on his own after Elspeth was killed."

"Mr. Simon is a remarkable young man. Tell me about him."

Snape gave her an enigmatic look, and said, "His story is his to tell."

He sipped his wine and set his glass down, folding his hands across his stomach. "Do you have any questions, Miss Granger? You used to be full of them, as I recall."

She smiled and stared down at her own hands as they twirled the wineglass. "I think it is too soon for me to have questions yet, although I am curious about the boy's relationship with his aunts and grandmother."

Snape nodded and stared back at the fire.

"To understand that, you need to know Elspeth's story, and since she cannot tell it, then I must."

His stare seemed to take him out of the room and it was a quiet moment before he began to tell the tale.

"Elspeth was the eldest child, with all of the resulting pressures that causes. She had two brothers and five sisters. A match was made for her by her father. She was to be married off to a wealthy Earl, which would have made a powerful connection for the family. Unfortunately, the Earl was old, gouty and syphilitic. The assistant gardener, however, was young, handsome, and of low enough character that he thought nothing of seducing away the Miss Beaton.

"They ran off together. By the time her family tracked her down, she was married, pregnant and living in a one-room hovel in Manchester. The former baron, in his far-sighted wisdom, cut her off from the family. He excised her from his will and forbade the family from any connection. She was effectively dead to them.

"The baron's youngest son died of what I suspect was diphtheria, along with two sisters. The baron sent for the oldest son, who had been gadding about in Europe, now that the war was over, just as Elspeth wrote to him letting him know about her new husband and changed circumstances. I believe she thought they might allow her back into their hearts, now that she was no longer taking in laundry—and the odd gentleman caller on the side—to feed her baby, while her useless husband drank his wages in the public house.

"Still unable to contact the eldest son, the Baron decided to take steps to ensure his estates. Before he was aware of Nigel, the next in line was a despised cousin. Once he heard of Nigel's existence, he took steps to bring the boy under his own control. He made an offer to buy his grandson. Not to welcome his daughter back to the bosom of her family, not to forgive her for being a frightened young girl of eighteen, overwhelmed by the limited choices life had given her, but to treat her like a broodmare."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "That's terrible!"

"I'm glad you think so."

"What did you do?"

"I made Nigel my son. I took over all legal authority for the boy and had a very short meeting with the late Baron wherein I threatened to kill him if he ever came near my wife or son again."

Hermione's eyes went wide and then she placed a hand over her mouth to stop her giggle.

"I bet you terrified him! Oh, I wish I could have seen it! I bet you were marvelous!"

Snape smirked. "I can show you the memory someday, if you would like."

Hermione blinked. "I would," she replied.

"As for the rest of it, the eldest son never came back from Europe. He died in a whorehouse in Sardinia, I believe. It took a long time for the news to reach them in the form of a bill for his burial. By that time, Elspeth had already been killed, and so, as Nigel's legal guardian, everything fell under my authority when the Baron died last May."

"That must have made your day less pleasant than it could have been."

"On the contrary, when I received the news, it was the first time I'd laughed in years."

"Why do I suspect there might have been a touch of mania to your humor?"

He smirked. "There might have been, at that."

He took a sip of his wine, and the trace of humor fell from his face.

"To answer your original query, at the root of the relationship between Nigel and his extended family is class, shame, guilt, and uncertain finances."

Mr. Snape went on to explain the intricacies and deviousness of the last Baron's will and just how bankrupt the estate had been when he took charge.

"Have you explained this to the Dowager?"

"My one attempt at civil discourse failed spectacularly. The woman vexes me, and I cannot stand being in the same room with her. I have yet to figure out how to get rid of them all. I'm thinking of throwing them all into a ditch and covering them with topiary."

"That would be a bit extreme. If I may be so bold, I do know a solicitor who is honest. He is new to his profession, but he does have an earnestness about him in such matters. I trust him highly."

Mr. Snape stared at her for a long time without comment.

"Would this solicitor happen to be a parson's son?"

Hermione felt herself blush. "You are remarkably well-informed about my private affairs."

"Your aunt is remarkably loquacious."

Hermione squirmed under his direct stare. "I only offered because you seemed to have need."

He sipped his wine and stared at the fire through the glass. "I will meet this parson's son, based on your recommendation. I would like you to give me his direction in the morning."

"Yes, sir." She finished her wine and set it on the small table between them.

"Have you any other quick remedies up your sleeve?" he asked, pressing his fingers between his eyes.

"Well, the Season is coming up; perhaps you should ship the Dowager and the Misses Beaton off to London and hope they find husbands?"

"Is there a shop where they are for sale?" he replied, in a dry voice.

"In fact, yes, more or less. They might even find a few discounted at Almack's."

"I might consider it. There is a townhouse languishing at the moment."

"You could ship half the footmen and parlor maids on ahead to open it up. I would also send the cook responsible for that jugged hare. It was atrocious."

"It always is. It is a favorite of the Dowager's, and she is in charge of the menu."

"More reason to ship them off."

"You make it an enticing venture; however, I'm not sure the estate could handle their spending."

"Put them on an allowance. In fact, tell the Dowager exactly how much they have to spend for the whole of the season, and put her in charge of it. It might give her an idea of just how close things are."

He looked at her and tilted his head. "You are full of good advice. I might just put you on retainer."

"You already have," she giggled, as he smirked.

The atmosphere between them shifted slightly, and she suddenly grew wary.

"You've not asked me anything about the one thing I would have thought you the most curious about," he said in a quiet voice.

She adjusted her shawl tighter about her and leaned over slightly, hugging her stomach.

"Why did you tell your daughter that I did not want to be a witch?"

"Because it's the truth."

She stared at him, trying to keep the anger from rising. "So I can just decide to be a witch again, and my magic will come back?" she snapped.

"Your magic is still there, Miss Granger. You have just stopped accessing it. You are not a squib, just blocked."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I cannot read your thoughts," he replied quietly. "You have erected a rather formidable barrier against any intrusion that no Muggle or squib would be capable of. In fact, few in the Wizarding World would be able to do so either. You are passively using your magic at every moment of the day to keep yourself hidden away."

"How? How am I doing this thing? And what do you mean you cannot read my thoughts? You say that as if it were normal to be able to do so. A person's thoughts are private, Mr. Snape."

She turned away from him and sipped her wine, flustered at the idea of this man, of all people, knowing what images bounced around in her mind.

He smirked. "I knew the questions would come bubbling out sooner or later." He studied his wineglass. "My magic is rather highly developed in the disciplines that pertain to a person's mind, Miss Granger. It is these skills that made me useful during the war. Even without using Legilimency, I can skim enough off the surface to ascertain if a person is lying or being truthful. Certain people, Mr. Potter being a good example, shout their thoughts across the room; others, like my Simon, are more closed off, and the most I can pick up on are emotions. You, however, are like a closed _door_. There is no thought, no emotion, nothing.

"You are an Occlumens, Miss Granger. This was not the case when you were a child, or I would have noted it. Therefore, I can only assume it has something to do with your inability to actively access your magic. You must dismantle it, or you will not be able to tap into your magic. This might prove highly difficult, considering my assumption that you have little understanding of how you created it to begin with."

She shook her head. She didn't have a clue what had happened. She was unsure of exactly what she felt about this development. She thought it might be fear. She had spent long years acclimating herself to the idea of not having magic. To begin to hope, only to fail, might just break her.

"So you are saying no one can read my mind?"

"No. I'm not. I have no doubts I could force my way past your shield, but it would be exceedingly painful. As formidable as your ability is, you would have been useless for the purposes of espionage. Your shield is far too obvious and practically shouts its presence to someone with my skills. The Dark Lord would have shredded your mind to find out what you were hiding."

"Only to find that the only thing I was hiding was myself. Do you think there is hope for me?"

He scowled. "There has always been hope for you, you silly girl. What you must decide is what you hope _for_. Unless you truly _want_ to be a witch, there is little chance that you will ever harness your magic again."

"What must I do?" she asked,

"You must decide what you want first. Then bring me your answer. I recommend taking a good amount of time to ponder."

She rose, and he did as well. She reached out and touched his sleeve and he froze. "Do you think I can be fixed, sir?"

He slowly shifted his arm out from under her fingers and replied, "I don't see you as broken, Miss Granger. Just stubborn. Your mind has the ability to hold onto an idea beyond what I would call a reasonable point. If you don't want it enough, it will not come back to you."

She nodded, remembering her hard-won lesson in the fallibility of book knowledge, and turned towards the door. She stopped and turned back to him. "Do you think I can do this thing?"

He smirked. "_Yes_," he replied solemnly. "Now, it has been a rather long day, and I still have some work to do. I'll bid you good night."

She nodded her head to him. "Sleep well, sir."

* * *

Well, that was a busy first day on the job!


	30. Maneuverings

AN: I'm crazy busy today, so I am just gonna slap this up for Alan's birthday and run. Enjoy!

* * *

_Dear Alice,_

_I received your letter and was beyond happy to hear you and Uncle Mercury had started recreating your collection. I am just thrilled that you have taken up your interests again. Surely this miserable winter will loosen its grip, and the winged fauna will reemerge for your pleasure soon._

_I cannot tell you how wonderful it is being at Wrenham Park. Mr. Snape is ever so nice, and his children are lovely. _

_Miss Grace is adorable, and although she still tends to be shy for most of the day, once she starts to play pretend, she is off and running. _

_The Little Lord, as everyone calls him, is also very charming. He tends to be very serious. I think he mimics Mr. Snape rather well, but he is very sweet and kind-hearted. He is highly protective by nature, and I am endeavoring to try and make him view Wrenham as something he needs to grow up to protect. I suspect I shall be successful. _

_Mr. Simon has been most companionable. He is a very nice young man and extremely good at sums. He is working hard to become an estate agent. His plan is to stay here and work for Nigel when he comes of age. _

_I don't see any of them ever leaving. This is an amazingly close-knit family. I suspect if one of them ever did decide to leave, the rest would simply follow._

_My life has fallen into a routine rather easily. I spend two hours with the children in the morning, and then Mr. Snape takes over their studies for the next four hours. Then we all have tea in the drawing room, after which, I spend more time with the children._

_I have begun taking long walks through the park during Mr. Snape's tutoring. I usually walk up the avenue to the road and back. I don't bother strolling the gardens; I tend to run into the ladies of the house, and with the exception of Miss Clara Beaton, they are almost always unpleasant. _

_I did indeed get a letter from Ron. I am very glad he has decided to settle down with Miss Lovegood. I think they are very well suited. I am very happy that they have found each other and glad that Molly is much more enthusiastic about Luna than she was about Lavender._

_I also received a letter from Ginny, and I am very excited for her going off to play for the Harpies. I'm sure you understand how strange that seems to me, for a young woman to be able to make such a choice, never mind the thought of sport as a profession, but I am far more envious than confused. Not that I would play Quidditch, mind. I abhor brooms. I must confess to finding myself increasingly frustrated at the limitations of my sex. It is even more difficult, I think, because of my exposure to the Wizarding world. Perhaps, had I not been made aware of the freedom witches have, I would have been better able to make my peace._

_Mr. Snape seems to think he can help me restore my magic. He said I had to be sure in my heart that I really wanted to first. Curiously, this has not been an easy judgment. I don't feel I belong in the Wizarding world any more than I feel I belong in the Muggle world. This house, with its near total immersion in all things Muggle, with only slight bits of magic, here and there, seems perfect to me._

_Mr. Snape only uses magic at teatime, to entertain the children for the most part. In fact, I have to frequently remind myself that he is not some Muggle lord, but a common-born half-blood. He is such a curious man._

_I shall sign off now; I hear the children escaping from the schoolroom. _

_Send my love to Uncle Mercury._

_Your loving niece,_

_Hermione_

* * *

"Who are you writing too, Miss Granger?" asked Grace, as she galloped over to the desk in the drawing room. Mr. Snape, Mr. Simon, and the Little Lord all strolled in together and arranged themselves on the seating as they waited for the tea tray.

"My Aunt Alice."

"You have an aunt? I have three, but I don't think they like me very much. Do you have a mother? I don't have one anymore."

Hermione would have been more alarmed by this statement if Grace wasn't busy galloping in a circle and making nickering noises at the same time.

"No. My mother died, just like yours. And I also have three other aunts that don't like me very much, so we have a lot in common."

"Excuse me, Miss."

The room went silent when everyone looked up to see one of the parlor maids waiting just inside the door.

"Yes?" Hermione said, pushing her letter to the side.

"Lady Wrenham asks if you could join the other ladies for tea this afternoon."

Hermione looked over to Mr. Snape who was staring at the maid with a raised eyebrow. Grace and Nigel both moved closer to their father, who lifted a hand and squeezed Nigel's shoulder. He looked over at Hermione and nodded just the slightest bit.

"I would be honored," she replied. "What time do they take their tea?"

"Now, Miss. They are in the east parlor."

"Oh. I shall come right away then."

Hermione lifted up her hand and patted at her hair, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"You look fine, Miss Granger," Simon reassured her.

She gave him a weak smile and headed out the door, after her customary curtsy to Nigel. Out in the hallway, she stopped and looked back at Mr. Snape. He was staring at her speculatively, while Grace swung off his elbow like a monkey.

"Enjoy your tea and gossip, Miss Granger," he said.

She nodded to him before she left.

* * *

She followed the parlor maid to the wing of the house she'd not yet been allowed in, surreptitiously trying to rub the ink from her fingers. It was hopeless.

She was led into a room that was painted sunshine yellow and winced. She curtsied low to Lady Wrenham and her daughters, just as Miss Clara jumped up and came hurrying over with a smile.

"Miss Granger, I'm so glad you could join us on such short notice," Clara shot her mother a look. "I do hope we didn't interrupt anything important?"

"Not at all. I was just finishing some correspondence." She waved her fingertips apologetically. "I need to be more attentive when I write."

Clara smiled. "I used to do that all the time. I would never look up from the page and would bump my fingertips on the inkwell every time."

"Exactly my issue," Hermione responded with a wry shake of her head. "How did you manage to stop?"

Clara returned her wince. "I gave up letter writing," she admitted with a droll laugh. "Come join us."

Hermione sat down at the table as the tea was brought in. Plates of iced cakes heaped high, as well as bread and butter and seedcake were placed on the table. The tea was poured, and the small plates were filled in an increasingly uncomfortable silence. Hermione took a sip and looked to Clara for direction, beginning to wonder exactly what she was doing here. Clara was looking at her mother as if trying to stare the woman into compliance.

"Miss Granger, let us not beat about the bushes pretending we cannot see the game," Lady Wrenham said finally. "I have it from my Clara, who heard it from Mr. Simon, that Mr. Snape has been contemplating allowing us to go to London for the Season. Can you confirm whether this is a falsehood Mr. Simon is spreading around in order to raise my daughters' hopes up just to dash them for his amusement?"

Hermione blinked. All of the sisters had gone as still as mice upon hearing a cat. "Lady Wrenham, you must know that it is not my place to speak about Mr. Snape's business. However, since I was the one that gave Mr. Snape the idea, I do feel qualified to answer to some small extent."

"_Your_ idea? How did this come about?"

"We were discussing Lord Wrenham, and he was explaining the difficult position he has been put in trying to keep his son's estates intact."

"Difficult? What is so difficult about bleeding us dry and cheating my daughters out of their inheritance?"

Hermione's anger sparked to life like over-dry tinder. He chin came up, and she knew her gaze had gone flat, as she looked down her nose at the other woman. Until this moment, she hadn't had any idea that the Granger Glower was instinctive.

"Excuse me, Lady Wrenham, but if you are discussing how insecure your daughters' finances are, I assure you, you have no one to blame but your, to my mind, vindictive husband and your wastrel son."

There was a shocked silence after this. "I am sorry for any disrespect for the departed, but it seems to me that the departed did not respect your persons very much at all."

"What are you saying?" Mary Beaton blurted in affront.

"What I am saying is that Mr. Snape has been driving himself to the gates of Bedlam these many months wading through the conflicting wills your father left. _He_ cut you off. He wanted to make things as confusing and difficult for Mr. Snape as possible. Your father's estate agent was discharged before his death and has been of no help, due to his resentment. He had four different solicitors, none of whom had all of the facts about the estate, and between them they have created quite the tangle.

"When Mr. Snape took over, your father's estate was nearly bankrupt. The remodeling of this house alone nearly ruined him, and your brother's bills in Europe took the rest. Creditors keep showing up each week with new debts. The entails have all been broken, leaving it in pieces that he is trying hard to cobble back together."

She looked at Lady Wrenham. "A staff of thirty for a house this size is why your daughters have no funds. Enough cake for twenty people served at a tea for five is why your daughters have no funds. Lavish suppers every night that you do not even eat are why your demands for new clothes fall on deaf ears. Ladies, the late baron left you penniless. Mr. Snape is trying to save what is left so there will still _be_ a Wrenham Park when the Little Lord comes of age. Once he pays off the debts, he will be able to settle your marriage portions. He intends to honor the late Lord Wrenham's previous will, outlining which properties he intended to leave you and what competencies he had intended to provide. Not the one that was drawn up after Mr. John Beaton died in Sardinia. I assure you; the Baron cut you all out of that one. All entails lapsed on his death and cannot be renewed until the Little Lord comes of age."

Hermione sipped her tea as the Beaton women all stared at each other.

"How bad can things be if he can hire you?" said the oldest sister.

"Mr. Snape pays my salary out of his own pocket. I am no burden to the estate."

"Oh, and I suppose he just—"

"Enough, Kate!" Even Hermione jumped at the snapping tone of the mother's voice. Lady Wrenham sighed and leaned back heavily in her chair. "How like him. How very like that obstinate man!"

"Who, Mama?" asked Clara.

"Your wretched father. Always so spiteful. So… _pig_headed. Cutting off my poor Elspeth and refusing to admit he was wrong." She sighed and pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. "How fitting that Elspeth's low-born husband should have more common sense."

"Mother, what are you saying?" cried Mary. "You don't believe this…..this…. _governess_, do you?"

"I do. I was married to the man, not you. And tell me he didn't act as if he despised the very sight of all of us that last year?" Lady Wrenham turned to Hermione. "Please tell Mr. Snape that I would very much like to have a meeting with him to discuss the state of the household. I'm afraid he did try to bring it up once before, but I… Well, let's just say I took umbrage. The man vexes me."

"I shall, my Lady."

"I believe I've had enough tea," she said, rising up out of her chair. "Stay. Finish. I need to be by myself."

Kate and Mary waited only a moment for their mother to leave before they took themselves off with a rude sniff. Clara stared at the tea table with wide eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry," Hermione said. "I let my mouth run away. I was inexcusably—"

"No," said Clara taking her hand. "Don't apologize for the truth."

"Then you believe me? Mr. Snape is not stealing your fortune, I assure you."

Clara nodded and refilled the teacups, blind to the fact that it was quite stewed.

"Do you know, the last three years my father was alive, he only ever said one thing to me? 'Why weren't you born a damned son!' I still hear it in my sleep." She sipped her tea and then pushed it aside with a moue of distaste. "I hated my father. I hated him for making Elspeth run away, and I hated him for burning her letters unread."

Hermione fidgeted, trying to figure out what to say, and opted for, "Tell me about her."

Clara brushed a crumb off the table into her hand and dropped it onto her plate.

"She was very beautiful," she said with a sigh. "Prettier than all of us. I have a miniature of her I hid in a drawer in my rooms. We used to call her our little mother. I never knew what happened. My eldest brother, John, was broken-hearted. They were very close. I heard him row with father several times over her.

"William worshiped father, and after Elspeth disappeared, he would repeat the dreadful things father used to say. I hit him once. Punched him right in his foul mouth. I was punished with a week of bread and water for my pains, but mother managed to sneak me cakes at night." Clara's eyes teared up, and Hermione reached over and squeezed her hand.

"The last time I saw her was the first time I saw Mr. Snape. They were shocking together. She was still so pretty, and he was… well, you've seen him. I thought they were very romantic. Of course, I was silly then. But I thought it was the most romantic thing in the world when I saw him kiss her good night."

Clara looked at her and pulled a face. "I know the thought of kissing Mr. Snape probably isn't to your taste, but I assure you, it _was _a romantic kiss. I would give anything for someone to kiss me like that."

Hermione's stomach twisted up in knots, and she fought to keep her face still.

"They left the next morning. Elspeth and I walked the grounds while the carriage was being loaded. She said the most curious thing to me then, and it makes me sad to this day."

"What did she say?"

" '_Never marry a man that doesn't love you, Clara. I've done it twice, and it hurts too much to be borne.' _"

Hermione was startled. "What are you saying? Mr. Snape didn't love her?"

Clara shook her head, slowly. "She said he'd rescued her, from what I don't know, and that he had done his duty by her, but that he didn't love her. She was so sad. It was obvious that she loved him desperately."

Hermione looked around, as if understanding had just been misplaced and she needed only to glance to see it. "But he speaks about her with such… loss," she said.

"Does he? That's good. I know Mr. Simon loved her very much, but I've never had the courage to ask him if Mr. Snape did too. I have seen him at her grave often since he came. I do so hope he loved her at least a little."

"I think he did," Hermione said. "I didn't even know he was married until last year when I met him again, but from what little he's said, he seems like he's still hurt by her loss."

"How did you know him?"

"He was my teacher."

"Then he really was a schoolmaster?"

"Yes. He taught… science."

Clara smiled and nodded her head. "That's what Elspeth said, but father always hinted that he was a bad character with a criminal past. I think he scared my father. I'd never seen my father cowed by anyone, but he took to his bed for a week after meeting your teacher."

Hermione chuckled. "I don't doubt it. Mr. Snape could cow an entire school, adults included."

Clara giggled. "I've never really known what to think about him. First, he became my definition of chivalry and bested my father. But then I thought him rather cold and was anguished for my sister. However, sending her back here for burial showed a respect that I wouldn't have thought him capable of. Next, of course, there was the worry over our financial futures. And you must admit he is a bit daunting of character. Basically, I think I've been afraid of him for the last nine months. I've only had Mr. Simon's opinion of him to ameliorate my terror."

Hermione gave her a direct stare and said, "How many times will you mention Mr. Simon before I'm allowed to notice?"

Clara blushed to the roots of her hair, and Hermione smiled. "Spotted it in one, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I don't think I did a very good job of hiding it."

"You did a _terrible_ job of hiding it. I assume he knows?"

"He'd have to be daft not to; I turn into a silly fool whenever he walks near."

"And does he return your affection?"

Her face fell. "I have no idea if he does or if I am reading too much into his sweet nature. It makes no difference. I'll never be allowed to marry one such as him."

"Why? He's a good match."

"He's a good match for someone else. My mother would never hear of it."

"Ah. I had thought that as the youngest daughter you might be granted a little more leeway."

"One could wish, but Elspeth put paid to any ideas like that. No, it's up or sideways, for me. Down won't be tolerated. We barely survived that last scandal, and we're nearly sunk with the present development. It will take at least two generations of respectable marriages and perfect deportment before Wrenham Park loses its taint. One could hope that Mr. Snape would do something to increase his standing at least in the community."

"Mr. Snape couldn't begin to care about his standing in the community," Hermione replied.

"That much is obvious, but he doesn't do the Little Lord any good for the future if he doesn't build alliances now."

Hermione frowned when she realized the truth of those words.

"Would you like me to order more tea?" Clara asked hopefully.

"No, thank you. I've enjoyed it, but I must get back for the children's next lessons. I've enjoyed our conversation, Miss Clara."

"Please, call me Clara."

"Then you must call me Hermione."

"I shall. I would very much like to be your friend, Hermione."

"I'd like to think that you already are."

* * *

Hermione stood in the doorway of the office and waited to be noticed. She was fearful of how he would react to her blurting such private matters to all and sundry—he was an intensely private man—but she was determine to tell him everything. She just hoped she still had a place in the house once she did.

Mr. Snape dipped his quill in the ink and then looked up.

"How was your tea, Miss Granger?"

"I believe it was… productive, sir. The Dowager would like to speak with you this evening about the state of affairs at Wrenham Park."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Which affairs in particular?"

"Those that pertain to the late Baron's financial arrangements and those that pertain to the current state of things, sir."

He sat back and gestured to a seat before his desk. When she was seated, he asked, "And how did this subject come about?"

"The reason I was invited to tea was to clarify rumors about a possible trip to London. I told them that I knew that the idea had been considered."

Snape stared at her, and she suddenly felt like a first-year again. "And how did the topic of the late Baron's financial maneuverings come about?"

Hermione winced and looked down at her hands. "It occurred to me that they had a misguided understanding of their current state. I might have enlightened them a little."

The fire in the grate popped and spat as the silence between them dragged out.

"Why would you tell them something that I had told you in confidence? Let me guess, they insulted me, and you leapt to my defense? How _Gryffindor _of you," he spat.

Her chin came up, and she stared him down. "They accused you of having the basest of motivations and insulted your character!"

"Oh, and no one's ever done that before," he replied with a sneer.

"They didn't do it around me and get off lightly, sir!"

"Miss Granger, it is not your place to run about defending my honor by trampling my privacy!"

"Well, _somebody_ should defend you, since you won't."

He snapped forward and leaned across the desk with a scowl. "And you've decided to take up the cause? Why?"

"Because it's not fair! Ever since I first went to that school, I've had to listen to people insult you and judge you, and I was always helpless to change anyone's opinion."

"Explain to me why you would think it was your place to even bother?" he demanded with exasperation.

"Because they were wrong! Everyone has always been wrong about you!"

They ended up both leaning in toward each other across the wide desk, with their irrational anger swirling in the air about them. Mr. Snape's eyes seemed to dart about her face, and he stared at her in a way that made her shiver.

She found herself mesmerized by just how dark his eyes actually were, suddenly wanting to look at them in sunlight to see if there was any brown at all. When his eyes locked onto hers, she stopped breathing. A warm burn started in her hammering chest and flowed towards her extremities. She felt dizzy, as if she was falling from a great distance.

Mr. Snape turned his head slowly, but his eyes stayed locked on hers as he twisted away with seemingly great effort.

She blinked, and the moment popped like a soap bubble. His eyes slid shut, and he leaned back and settled in his chair.

"Miss Granger, you should, perhaps, turn your mind to the possibility that they were _not _wrong about me," he said in a stern voice. "You are far too old to be this childish anymore."

She reeled back as if he'd slapped her.

He picked up his quill again and said, "The children are waiting for you. Please send Simon in when you see him."

Hermione gathered her shawl around her shoulders and left the office wondering what had just happened.

* * *

_Dear Alice,_

_Would it be possible for Uncle Mercury to send me everything that is known about Mr. Snape? Old copies of newspaper articles, perhaps? I have recently been told by him that my opinion of his person is based on incomplete facts, and seek to remedy the situation._

_Your affectionate niece,_

_Hermione_

* * *

And there you have it...


	31. Biography

AN: Sorry! So sorry! I know I'm late! Things have been crazy around here. I homeschool my daughter, and the school year is getting busy as we head into testing season. That cuts into my noodling with fic time. I was going to wait until I had a chance to reply to reviews but at this point, I'm just gonna post, since I think that would make you happier campers.

* * *

Hermione tied her bonnet on firmly and headed out take her usual constitutional. She walked down the steps and began a brisk stride up the avenue.

"Miss Granger, wait!"

She turned in time to see Mr. Simon hurrying after her, still buttoning up his coat against the cold winter air.

"I thought I would walk with you, this morning. I hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all," she replied with a smile.

He held out his elbow and they headed off up the avenue toward the road.

"It looks like this winter isn't going to give up without a fight," he said.

"So it would seem," she replied. "I would have expected at least a teasing bit of warmth by now."

Mr. Simon looked up at the steel-grey clouds. "Even a bit of teasing would be welcome." He turned his head towards her and cleared his throat. "I overheard you and Severus arguing yesterday after tea," he said with a sigh. "I hope everything is alright?"

"Of course. It was only a minor altercation. I was on the receiving end of far worse when I was his student."

Simon blew out a cloud of steam, as he nearly sagged with relief.

"I am much relieved. I feared it was worse than that. He can have a nasty temper, and I was afraid he let it carry him away."

"Well, I am not easily frightened, and I suspect his bark is worse than his bite."

Simon gave her a level stare. "No, unfortunately, it isn't. His bite can be devastating. That's why I was concerned. Whatever went on between you, he's been terribly out of sorts ever since and was almost absent-minded during our meeting with Lady Wrenham yesterday."

"I fear I overstepped my bounds at tea."

"If you did, then you did so splendidly to my way of thinking. They have reached an accord I would have thought impossible only yesterday morning."

"Oh, that _is_ splendid. I am very glad, indeed. I suspect there is more to Lady Wrenham than meets the eye, although I have nothing good to say about Kate and Mary."

"But you like Miss Clara?"

Hermione turned to look at him, and when she saw the overly hopeful look on his face, she tilted her head and gave him a wry smile and a direct stare. His cheeks, already pink from the cold, flushed scarlet.

"Ah, so that's the way of it," she said with an understanding smile.

He sighed and they walked on. "No good will come of it. It's a useless affection, but I cannot seem to make my heart understand the way of things."

"I understand. She said as much herself."

He stopped again and turned to her. "She did? What did she say? You must tell me everything!"

"Oh, dear, do you really want to know? I fear it would only hurt you more."

" 'Whoever loved that loved not at first sight?' " he quoted.

"I'll see your Shakespeare and raise you Socrates. 'The hottest love hath the coldest end.' "

He pulled a face. "I don't much like your quote. No wonder they made him drink poison."

She winced, and they walked on. "Miss Clara adores you, Mr. Simon, but has made it clear that there is no way she would be allowed the honor of your affection. She is trying to resign herself to her fate. You do her no favors with your feelings. Her sister's example is too boldly writ."

He nodded his head, and they walked along in silence for a while. "I wanted to hate her, you know. For what they had done to poor Elspeth. I hated them all with a passion. Severus still does. I don't anymore, though I am afraid to tell him that. I think they were as trapped in their lives as Elspeth was in hers."

"Tell me about her," Hermione asked in a quiet voice. "Tell me about _yourself_. I know so very little. How did you come to be Simon Snape?"

He laughed. "How did any of us come to be Snapes? Well, except for Grace." He looked at her and smiled. "He just finds us. Finds us when we are at our most desperate, and he plucks us out of our misery and gives us his name."

"What was your name before?"

"I don't know. I was always just Simon Sweep, even to me mam. My father only ever went by Black Jake, on account of his hair. He came from a family of redheads, so you can see where that might have been a bit noteworthy. I don't think it ever occurred to me to ask what my surname was, although I do remember wishing it was Snape. It's such a strong, name, don't you think?"

"Indeed."

"My father had grown up with him, you see. They were mates for a while, the two of them and McKenzie. The three of them were always up to trouble. Dad and Snape were good at pulling off the bulk and file, and I heard plenty about his exploits as a rum dubber, able to get in and out and snaffle up the best and leave the rubbish. They say he was small, but he was quick and sly as a fox."

"You've lost me," Hermione said with a laugh.

Simon smiled and rolled his eyes. "I think I lost myself for a moment there. They were pickpockets, Miss Granger. My father or McKenzie would distract the quarry, and Snape would snatch them clean. He was also the fastest lockpick in the pack, able to get in and out of a house, unseen, while the owners were still home. He was legendary."

Hermione's eyes flew wide. "You must be joking! Oh, this is simply too much!" She let out a peel of laughter. "If you only knew how he terrified his students who even thought about breaking a rule!"

Simon's eyes glittered with mirth. "I would love to hear about that. I don't know your teacher. Or your wizard. I only know my Mr. Snape, if you get my meaning."

"I do. Tell me more about the legendary rum dubber!"

"Ah, there's nothing good left to tell. Others began to resent him, and one tipped off the constable. He was boned and spent a month in gaol, where he took so many facers it left him as you find him. After that, he drifted away from the gang. That's when my Dad started to resent him. He said by the time he was eleven or twelve, Severus had already turned himself into a gentleman. McKenzie as well, he went to work in Turner's Mill when it opened. Only my dad stayed in the life, more's the pity."

"So how old was Mr. Snape when he turned from his life of crime?"

"As far as running the streets went, about nine or ten, I guess. He went out with a bang though, if the rumors were true."

"What happened?"

"Well, the day after his stint in the Manchester Hotel, the older boy who gabbled on him was found floating in the canal. Everyone was sure it was Snape."

Hermione's smile fell, and she blinked several times. "Do you think the rumors were true?"

He stopped and turned to her. "Yes, Miss Granger. I do."

"My god," she whispered.

"I found out later that my father was wrong. Severus didn't turn into a gentleman at twelve, he just stopped running with my father's gang because he had found a different one. Even before he became a full-fledged Death Eater, he used his magic to support his parents through blackmail and extortion schemes. He preyed on the gentry, knowing their tawdry secrets could ruin lives.

"He repented that life. He ended up paying a price he hadn't expected. He spent the next seventeen years trying to make amends, but he wasn't penitent enough to give his money back. Instead, he invested it. He still uses his abilities to ensure his investments are sound. He is a very wealthy man now. He just doesn't bother to spend it. Money is just something he always thought he should have because he never wanted to be poor again. He only really ever spends it on clothes."

Something about his manner sent up a flag in her head. "He told you to tell me these things, didn't he?"

"Not in so many words, but he led me to believe it would be better for you to know our truth."

She nodded and reached up and broke a stubborn, browned leaf from the branch over her head, crushing it in her gloved hand.

"Tell me _your _truth, Mr. Simon. How old are you really?"

"I'm not sure, actually. Seventeen? Nineteen? I'm not twenty-one, but we pushed my age up a good bit when I was in charge of the children. Mr. Snape has a way of making things nice and tidy when it comes to paperwork. As for my truth… I was just like him, Miss Granger."

"Please, call me Hermione."

"Hermione, then, if you call me Simon. I was running with my own little pack of dogs and was struck by the notion that there was no better way to make your chink than to buzz the legendary Mr. Snape himself. I wasn't even within four feet of him on the street when he looked me right in the eye and said, 'You want to reconsider that thought, boy.' I thought I was scragged, right there and then, as there was a constable nearby. He just flipped me a groat and kept walking.

"I became fascinated by him then. I must only have been about seven. I wanted to be just like him. So since he had given up the easy way, I did too. I took odd jobs here and there, but I would never work in the mill. When I heard Mr. Snape had vowed never to set foot in the place, I did too.

"Which meant I starved. Most of the time. That's how I met Elspeth Spanner. I would help her with her laundry, and she would feed me, if her man wasn't about. After my parents died, I was a here and therian, sleeping where I could and doing my best to earn a coin for food. I finally resorted to begging. When that didn't work out, I went looking for Elspeth.

"I found her sick. Her man had died with my dad in the corn riots, and she was alone with a bad case of the churchyard cough. I stayed with her and the two babies. Grace and Nigel were sick as well. I did what I could for them. Spooning boiled water into their mouths and keeping them warm."

His eyes watered, and Hermione wrapped her other hand around his arm and squeezed it.

He looked at her with a shaking head.

"I was only a bit older than Nigel is now. I was there nearly two weeks, trying to keep them all from dying. I started stealing again. I stole everything I could to bring home an onion, a pint of milk, or a potato. I snatched lunch pails from people heading to the mill.

"It was a close thing. I was starting to cough as well. Everyone was at their end when Mr. Snape started banging the door down. Elspeth had said he would come. He'd been one of her paying gentlemen, but I suspect he was already more to her even then. He was all she would talk about by that point; she was delirious. And even though it seemed hopeless—he didn't even know about Grace, and was away at his school—I started praying he would as well. And he did. He just barged in, took one look at us, and that was that. Before you could say Jack-be-done-with-it, we were all healthy, warm and fed, and hiding in Cheshire."

"Who were you hiding from?"

"Your Death Eaters."

"Oh, of course. So you knew he was a wizard?"

"No. We didn't know what we were hiding from, but he made it clear that the situation was potentially lethal. Knowing what I knew about him in the past, I assumed he was mixed up in something along the same lines that had taken a much darker turn. We knew nothing about magic until Grace's powers started to appear."

"That must have been a strange development."

"We were already a strange family by that point. He had simply married Elspeth and tossed us all in a carriage. He didn't say one word to his own parents after the ceremony, just told the driver to walk on. None of us even questioned why we were all healthy again so quickly, or how he had found us a home in Cheshire in a day. We just went along for the ride.

"He left again as soon as we were settled. I thought I was just an oversight. I think I spent the first two years afraid that Mr. Snape would arrive home from school one day and finally notice I was still hanging around. It hadn't occurred to me that he had simply decided I was part of the deal.

"You must admit we were strange, a schoolmaster, a prostitute, two babes from two different men, and a beggar boy. We only became stranger, a wizard, a baron, a witch and a land agent. Can you see where I might be having a little difficulty thinking Clara is beyond my reach?"

She laughed, "Yes, I can concede that point easily." She grew serious again and said, "How did Elspeth die?"

It was as if a light had been snuffed out in Simon's eyes. He suddenly looked desolate. "One summer, after the school term was over, he didn't come home. He had told us to expect it. That he was most likely dead and had taken steps to ensure we would be looked after financially if he disappeared. Elspeth couldn't make her peace with it. It drove her nearly mad, the not knowing. She took it into her head that he was alive somewhere and needed her. That August, she left me with the children and went to Manchester to see if she could find a sniff of him. She found Death Eaters instead. He had been trapped into living with one and was afraid of leading them back to Cheshire, so he had stayed away. Elspeth was tortured and left for dead, while he was at a meeting.

"I don't know who feels more responsible, me for not stopping her, or him for not being home when she arrived. Neither of us has ever been able to forgive ourselves."

Hermione hugged his arm. "She made her own choice, Simon. She did what she needed to do."

"She loved him too much," he replied.

"And him? Did he love her too much?"

Simon shook his head slowly. "No. He didn't love her enough, and I think that tears him apart inside now. There was another, you see. A girl who had died long before that _he_ loved too much." Simon shook his head. "Surviving the war hasn't been the easiest thing for him. He is much changed. I'm not sure he is as happy to have lived as your average person."

She sighed. "I think Mr. Snape is a very foolish man if he thinks my knowing more about his life would make me think less of him."

"Is that what you argued about?"

"Yes. He seems to think I am irrational in thinking of him as a good man."

Simon grunted. "That puts you in good company. He thought the same of Elspeth. I think that was her biggest sorrow; that she could never get him to see what we did. She had never met anyone that thought themselves as valueless as us street rats. I supposed that's because she didn't really understand how cheap life was in Spinner's End. She didn't live there long enough."

"She didn't get to live anywhere long enough. I wish I could have met her."

"You would have liked her. She was really very nice but not very bright. She could make you laugh for hours with the things that would come out of her mouth. The best part was she would laugh the hardest when you explained it to her."

"Did she make Mr. Snape laugh?"

Simon shook his head. "I've heard him chuckle over something the children have done, and he did have a way of huffing at Elspeth that somehow let you know he was amused, but I only heard him laugh once. That was when we received the news that Nigel was the new baron." Simon grimaced. "Let's just say it's not a laugh I want to hear again."

Hermione winced and said, "I can only imagine."

The two of them shared a look and began to chuckle.

* * *

Severus stared out the window of the classroom, as his children practiced their penmanship behind him. He watched the two young people walking back up the drive toward the front door. They seemed very relaxed, with her hands wrapped around his elbow and laughing so comfortably together.

They made a handsome couple, he thought to himself. He looked away with a heavy sigh.

* * *

The next day, it was Clara that met her at the door when she went for her walk.

"I thought I might join you, if you wanted the company," she said as she tied the silk ribbons on her bonnet.

"Please do," Hermione responded with a smile.

They set out up the drive, and Clara wrapped her arm around Hermione's.

"So did you have a pleasant walk yesterday?" Clara asked politely.

"You mean with Simon? Yes. Yes, I did. We talked about everything under the sun, including you, so you can stop acting so blasé." Hermione laughed at how Clara's innocent look dissolved. "You little imp, that's why you wanted to come walking with me. Am I to be the monkey in the middle now?"

"He did mention me? Oh, Hermione, you must forgive me. I saw the two of you and you looked so… right together. I'm afraid I was terribly jealous."

"Of me and Simon? Don't be. I find him very, very charming, but I don't think of him that way. Besides, even if I did, his heart is quite securely in your hand."

"Are you sure? Honestly, I have been giving it an intense amount of thought, and the two of you would make a most agreeable couple. You are both smart and kind and loyal, and you don't have any barriers between you."

"Clara, I have no designs on Simon, and he has none on me. In fact, can you keep a secret?"

"No. I like you, and I won't lie to you. I can't keep a secret for love or money. I never learned how. That's why no one tells me anything."

"Well, in that case, I will only say that my affections are directed elsewhere. Simon isn't even on my heart's horizon."

"Oh, this is terrible! Now I want to know who it is!"

"I will only say it is someone I met a long time ago. You really do need to learn how to keep a secret, though. I'm pretty sure the Snape men value discretion above almost all other things. Even if you were only to maintain a friendship with Simon, he would want to pour out a private thought to you without fear of consequences."

"But he won't. I already told him I cannot keep a secret. I do so hate to disappoint people, so I think it best to be honest about such things up front."

"Well, that's fair. But I still think you need to learn to keep a confidence. I shall tell you a secret, and you shall see how long you can hold it. Ready?"

Clara grimaced almost in fear. "Alright. Go ahead."

"My favorite color is purple."

Clara's expression made Hermione giggle.

"That's a secret?"

"Well, I've never told anyone before, so only you and I know! That makes it a secret."

"Good heavens, it does. Now what do I do?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, but surely I must be able to do something with this little scrap of knowledge you've given me."

"Not a thing, my dear. That is the whole point. To learn how to put it out of your mind."

"For how long?"

"Well, typically, for a deep and dark secret, it would be for the rest of your life, but since this is just a little secret, then let's place a time limit on it. What do you think?"

Clara threw her head back, lifted her hand to her heart, and pronounced, "I shall keep this secret until I return from London!"

Hermione laughed. "So you are going?"

"Yes. Mother has been making plans all day. She met with Mr. Snape again after dinner, and they have come to an agreement on expenses. They are both being suspiciously reasonable. Mary and Kate have no idea what to make of it."

"Are you excited?"

"Yes and no. With all the tragedy we've faced in the last three years, none of us have left the house, since it wouldn't have been considered proper. However, I must say I am not thrilled with the idea of looking for a husband when my heart is already compromised."

"Perhaps you will find someone you like better than Simon. What if Simon only caught your eye because you haven't been exposed to any other eligible gentlemen?"

Clara sighed. "I almost wish that were case, but I don't hold out much hope. I think Simon is quite possibly the only man on this globe that I will ever find attractive. It is as if he were made for me. He has all the good qualities of Mr. Snape, but far kinder and so much easier on the eyes. I know I come across like a silly creature, but I really find him so… everything. However, I shall try and direct myself towards my own future. I shall do my best to find someone else."

Hermione squeezed her arm in sympathy. "You do realize, that I will expect you to write to me and tell me how things are going?"

"I was just resigning myself to blackened fingertips again," Clara said with an exaggerated sigh.

* * *

Hermione was just sitting down to pour the tea when Mr. Snape came into the room with the children. She smiled at him and nodded, but he only walked past and sat in his usual chair and opened a book.

Things had remained strained between them since their harsh words. She had tried several times to initiate a conversation, but he had only answered in short bursts and eventually excused himself from the room.

This new fascination of reading during tea seemed like an overly obvious deterrent.

"Hermione, this came by owl while you were teaching." She looked up to find Simon holding a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"Oh, thank you, Simon."

She pulled the letter off the top and popped the wax with her thumb.

_My Dearest Niece,_

_I took the liberty of replying directly and bear full responsibility for the enclosed material. Your aunt was highly agitated by what she read and is against my sending it to you. However, it is my belief that you are a person who values truth above all things._

_Enclosed are several articles, arranged in order dating back over twenty years. Also, you will find a book, written by one Rita Skeeter, a journalist of questionable talent. I have read the book and find it excessively lurid and overly dramatized, but it contains interviews that one can only assume are vague approximations of what the person said. I have also taken the precaution of placing the various editorials on the book inside the front cover. I believe you will find Mr. Potter's rebuttal most illuminating._

_In one area of this, your aunt and I are united. You must listen to your own voice in this matter, my dear. Neither of us believes the facts should change your opinion of him. Whereas I cannot claim to know the man, too many people I respect, respect him. Including yourself._

_I hope I have done the right thing. You will let me know?_

_Your faithful Uncle,_

_Mercury Throgsbottom_

"What is it, Miss Granger?" asked Nigel.

"It's a package from my Uncle. If you don't mind, my lord, I would very much like to go and read his letter in my room."

"Well, if you must," said Nigel, with feigned sagacity.

"Thank you, my lord."

She tucked her parcel under her arm and left. At the doorway, she turned and saw Mr. Snape staring at her. He nodded and went back to his book.

* * *

Well, he can't say she knows nothing about him now...


	32. Discovery

AN: Just stumbled in after a long day, but I know y'all have been waiting for this. I shoulda slapped it up before I left the house this morning.

* * *

Hermione closed the book with a thump and threw it across the room where it landed with a broken spine and slid closer to the small fire crackling in the grate. She narrowed her eyes and scrambled up out of her chair, snatching up the various news articles that her Uncle had sent. She stomped across the room, tearing them to pieces and crumpling them up before throwing them into the fire. She watched with seething satisfaction as they burned.

She added more wood and then picked up the book.

Whoever this Rita Skeeter was, Hermione was filled with a need to make her pay. Her Professor had had a terrible life, and to have it dragged out into the light, with next to no context to add any sort of balance was criminal.

The fact that he had been vindicated only took up one and a half pages. The speculation that he had bribed his way free had taken up thirty. Only a handful of people spoke on his behalf and that odious author had managed to cast doubt on their persons as well. Including the Headmistress of the school, Professor McGonagall.

Hermione set her jaw, and began tearing pages out of the book and feeding them to the flames. Eventually all that was left was the leather cover. She tossed that to the side. She felt the book had already tainted the very air of the room. She wouldn't add to that.

She sat down on the floor and grabbed the poker, stirring the fire until the papers were ash. When she was done, she put her chin on her knees and stared into the flames.

No wonder the man always looked so burdened. His manner had become even more remote and nasty since Simon had revealed their past. He must assume that she would judge him as everyone else had done.

He was a fool. She needed to find a way to get him to realize that she saw him for who he really was.

* * *

Hermione stepped inside the office door and stood, waiting for Mr. Snape to notice her, as was her custom. She bit her lip and tried not to fidget as he finished whatever he was working on and dropped his quill in a tray before sitting back and looking up.

He seemed colder and more remote than she had ever remembered him being. It occurred to her that what had seemed like a simple act a few minutes ago could just possibly be a rather foolish endeavor now that the moment was upon her.

"How can I help you, Miss Granger?"

"I was just wondering the same thing, sir."

He scowled. "I have little time for games, Miss Granger. Get to the point."

"May I come in, sir?"

"Of course, you silly girl. I shouldn't still have to tell you that by now. If the door is open, you are welcome."

She walked over to the desk and sat down in the chair before him, wringing her hands in her lap and trying not to bite through her lip. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin.

"Oh, gods," he muttered. "You're about to do something Gryffindorish, aren't you? Please don't. I've had a long day."

She slumped. "Sir, I just want to know what the matter is. You've been out of sorts for days and I… I don't like it."

"You don't _like_ it? What is that supposed to mean? Are you ordering me to be in a good mood, Miss Granger?"

"No! I just— You really should have let me do this the Gryffindor way, I'm ever so much better at it than Hufflepuff. I want to know what's wrong with you. Why are you moping around and looking like the world is going to end and you're not allowed to tell anyone?"

He stared at her and blinked.

"That's your idea of a Hufflepuff approach?"

"I think I ended up lodged somewhere between the two," she mumbled.

He let out a long breath and stood up, she rose as well, unsure of herself.

He walked over to his decanter and pulled out the stopper. "Would you share a glass of wine with me, Miss Granger?"

"I would like that."

He handed her a glass and gestured her over to the two chairs before the fire. He sat down and pulled out his wand, sending the flames higher and warming the room significantly.

"I'm beginning to fear this winter will never end," he sighed, as he settled back against the cushion. He drank his wine and stretched out his long legs, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. "I appreciate your concern, Miss Granger. However, I assure you, the world is not coming to an end. I am just… tired."

"Can you not take a holiday? Is there somewhere you could go to just get away for a while? "What about Bath? Perhaps you might take the waters? I'm sure Simon is more than capable of watching over things while you find a bit of respite."

He gave her a look that she thought almost seemed sad for a moment.

"Yes, he could. He's a very capable young man. He's always managed to look after things while I was gone. I think he's probably better at everything than I am anyway, by now. He has a genius with this sort of thing. I do it out of necessity. It bores me to tears."

He took another sip of his wine and said, "You seem to have settled in well around here. The children care for you a great deal, and you've managed to make peace between the camps. Miss Clara has become a friend, and I see you've become very close with Simon as well."

"I think I _have_ settled in rather well. I enjoy it here. I still feel a bit like you do, that this isn't the place for me, but I feel like it is close to it. I am happy."

"I don't think Simon ever plans on leaving."

"I don't believe so either," she said. "He's very loyal to Nigel, and he has other things to make him feel this is his place. He is a bit of an inspiration. I'm not sure I've ever met someone as content as he is. Most of my experience is with people who have always been impassioned by something or bound to strive for something else. Simon is unique to me, in that he is very happy with what he already has. Of course, there are one or two things that would complete his happiness. I only hope he can attain them."

"You sound like you care about him a good deal."

"I do. He is the best of men."

"Oh, him too? How fickle you are," he said with a mocking voice and an amused glint in his eye.

"Don't be boorish," she said with an answering smile. "I've had quite enough of you making fun of my opinion of you. And you can hardly blame me, since Simon is basically you with manners and a smaller nose."

His eyes changed to that intense, inscrutable look she had caught glimpses of the last few weeks.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, is your opinion of me still immutable?"

She flushed, remembering when she had told him that and how close she'd come to throwing herself at him only a few minutes afterwards. She tried to cover it by turning toward the fire and taking a quick gulp of wine.

"I took your advice and learned what there is to know about your past, sir. I listened to the stories you wanted Simon to tell me. I know as much about you as is possible for me to know without your own input. I was very distressed to hear details of your previous life, and I admit to no small amount of shock. But these events are all in your past. My answer is yes, sir. You may feel I am childish, but my opinion of you is still unchanged. I find you the best of men, still."

She flicked a darting glance at him to judge his reaction, and found him staring at her with unseeing eyes, lost in his own thoughts. He blinked slowly and stood, walking closer to the fire. He placed one hand on the mantel and looked down at the flames, sipping his wine.

"I want to thank you for introducing me to Mr. Janssen," he said, changing the tone abruptly. "You were right in your opinion of him, and he has done very well sorting through the mess the old baron left behind and has even been able to find monies the old fool had lost track of."

"You're most welcome, sir. I'm glad he is helpful."

"He is recently married, by the way. He bid me to say 'you were right,' whatever that cryptic bit of nonsense means."

"I pointed him in the direction of his new wife when I ended our understanding."

His head came up, and he looked at her oddly. "That's a remarkable feat. How did that come about?"

"Mary Parker was ready to throw herself in front of a coach and six for him. I was ready to give him about fifteen minutes of my time a day. It occurred to me that she was the better choice for a man that was in need of a devoted wife."

"You are not planning on being a devoted wife?"

"Oh, I would be, if given the chance with the right devoted husband. But that title, to me, precludes someone that would expect me to spend all day planning how best to wait on him hand and foot when he came home. I'm afraid even my limited exposure to the Wizarding world has tainted me too much for that."

"And yet that is what Molly Weasley does."

"Because she chooses to. Her daughter is allowed to go play for the Harpies. She has a career."

"Do you still want a career, Miss Granger?"

"Despite my many setbacks, I would still like to be a doctor someday, Mr. Snape."

"A doctor, not a Healer?"

"I think I would have preferred being a Healer, but there are obvious impediments."

"So you have given up on being a witch?"

"I think I have just become used to being a Muggle, sir."

He sighed and came and sat back down. "You may do as you wish, Miss Granger, but if you want my opinion, you are a fool for not even trying to regain your magic."

"You said it would be futile if I wasn't sure. As of yet, I haven't found a compelling enough reason why I would want to rejoin the Wizarding world. If I may be so bold, you seem to manage just fine without it. I cannot but see you as an example."

He frowned eloquently and turned back toward the fire.

"I will tell you one reason that you have overlooked," he murmured to the blaze. "I am one and forty years old, Miss Granger. It is a rare Muggle that lives a handful of years past fifty. Despite the pains I have taken with their health, I will have the honor of watching my sons grow up, grow old and die, before I've even gone grey." He turned to her. "You will live thrice as long as any Muggle, whether you chose to use your magic or not. Eventually, you will be forced more times than you would wish, to uproot your life and move to avoid suspicion. That is why so many Squibs remain in the Wizarding world, despite it being apparently easier for them to live amongst the Muggles.

"Your Uncle is cheating. He has been dosing your aunt with potions to repair her minor health issues and has hopes of her living to be about ninety at the most. That will still leave him with twenty or thirty years without her."

He sighed and waved a hand in her direction. "You are merely twenty. If you chose to take a Muggle husband, be prepared to bury him while you are still young. Unless you chose to be like my mother and just sit and die after he leaves you alone in the world. That would be a waste."

There was a long empty moment after this last statement, where she didn't know how to respond. She wanted to reach out and clasp his hand and ask him to tell her about the pain in his eyes, but Mr. Snape was not the kind of character that invited such liberties.

"I wasn't aware of that fact. Or had forgotten it. That would be a grave concern," she said, after the silence became oppressive.

"There is much you do not know, Miss Granger. You need to make an informed decision." He looked around him at the bookshelves in his office. "There are two shelves that contain magical texts in this room. If you can find them, I will let you read them."

She gave him a timid smile and then looked around the room. Remembering a lesson taught long ago, she looked at him with a small smirk and asked, "Am I allowed to touch the box?"

His eyes glittered. "Yes."

She rose up out of her chair and began circling the walls, looking at the titles. Shakespeare, Virgil, Plato, and Socrates, stood alongside Machiavelli, Hobbs, Locke, Rousseau, and Paine. There were treaties on agriculture by Jethro Tull and economics by Adam Smith. There were books of poetry and books about foreign travels. Books on art and books about engineering. There must have been a thousand books.

She ran her hand lightly along the spines fascinated anew by such a collection of knowledge. When she came upon his collection of Diderot's works, her fingertips tingled. She placed her palm flat against the spines and brushed it along the entire row, feeling the slight, tingling vibration. She felt the same thing on the shelf below it.

"Here!" She felt utterly triumphant, as she beamed at him proudly. "They are here!"

He came up behind her and took the hand that was still touching the books, reaching around her with his other to place his wand in her grip. He wrapped his long fingers around her own and gently rested his other hand on her shoulder.

"Finite," he whispered with a flick of their hands. She felt his magic pass through her fingers like warm water, as the illusion concealing the texts ended.

Her wonder at this display and her pride in having worked out the hidden magic in the room were utterly obliterated by the fact that his fingertips were resting on the naked skin of her shoulder. His hand seemed to consume hers. She swallowed and tilted her chin up, trying to keep her focus.

"Is this your entire collection?" she blurted inanely. It was an utterly foolish question. He'd had more books than this in his office at school.

"Hardly," he said with a snort. "Would you like to see the rest?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

He slid his wand out of her nerveless fingers and tightened his hand on her shoulder. She felt herself start to turn, and then they were gone with a pop.

She stumbled forward once she was able to breathe again, and he steadied her with a hand on her arm. A whispered spell caused several candles to flare to life.

She looked around and found herself in a small, dismal parlor that had been converted into a library. There were books everywhere. Lining the walls from floor to ceiling and stacked on every surface, including the faded and threadbare carpet. There was a copious amount of dust everywhere, and the overall impression was of sadness and neglect rather than scholarly disregard.

She turned and found he had retreated into the far corner of the room and was looking at her with a scowl, as if already anticipating her negative opinion.

"Where are we?"

"Manchester."

"This is the house you grew up in, isn't it?"

"Yes."

She nodded and walked over to a shelf, raising her hand to touch the spines.

"I wouldn't do that. The books I keep at Wrenham are harmless if my children get curious. Not all of these are. In fact, until you regain your magic and have a deeper understanding of it, you are forbidden from touching any of the books along this wall here." He gestured to the wall to his right. "Unlike Pandora, you won't release pestilence into the world; you will simply die in agony. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You may take whatever other books interest you. I will bring you back here when you need more."

Her excitement must have shown in her eyes when she looked at him, because his scowl turned to a smirk.

"You are too good to me, sir. Why am I suddenly reminded of the story of Eve? With you as the serpent trying to tempt me back towards magic with knowledge"

He chuckled darkly. "It is a fitting metaphor."

His eyes flared with something else entirely, and she turned away, afraid, as always, of letting the effect he had on her become too obvious. If she didn't keep her features schooled, he wouldn't need to read her mind to know her thoughts.

If she were a witch, she would not have been so timid. She wished she were bold.

She spent the next fifteen minutes picking out an armful of books and then walked over to where he was still standing. She gestured to the wall of forbidden texts.

"That is a large number of potentially lethal books, if I may say so."

"I think at this point you are aware that I am a potentially lethal man," he replied.

She searched his face for a hint of humor, but found none.

"May I ask you a question?"

"You may," he replied. "I assume you will have many from here on in."

"This one is more personal in nature."

He raised an eyebrow but nodded, with a wary expression.

"Did you really kill that boy when you were ten? After you were released from prison?"

His eyes seemed to grow dull, as if a cloud had passed across the light of his thoughts.

"No," he replied, taking her elbow in readiness to Apparate. "I wasn't quite nine."

She twisted out of his hand and turned to face him. "Do you regret it?"

His eyes ignited with sudden fury, and she stumbled backwards as he advanced on her, throwing words like knives.

"He was fourteen when he set me up, angry because I could not to explain I was using a form of non-verbal Alohomora. It was my first offence. Instead of being transported or hanged outright, the judge had mercy and sentenced me to a whipping, followed by ninety days of eating maggots and fighting for my life against bully boys and sodomites. He lost face when the others turned against him. He was determined to take it out on me once I was free.

"Do I regret it, Miss Granger? No. I do _not_." He drew himself up and looked down at her. "He was a fool. Everyone knew the rules. If one was going to make enemies in Spinner's End, one must first learn to _swim_."

"Is that what you did? You pushed him into the canal?"

"As hard as I could." He narrowed his eyes and his voice dropped down to a whisper. "He was just the first, Miss Granger. Dumbledore was merely the last."

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Were any of them innocent?" she asked in a scratchy voice.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I never partook in the violence the other Death Eaters reveled in against Muggles, if that is what you are asking. I just did what I needed to do to survive."

They stood there, squared off against each other in the middle of his library. He stared at her as if daring her to accept him now. She wrestled with her new knowledge, with her arms full of very old knowledge.

"Is that why you were so accepting of Elspeth's disgrace? Because she was just doing what she needed to do to survive?"

"Elspeth took in laundry to survive. She took in men so her _children_ could survive. Not all of them did. I am hardly one to judge people on their actions, when they have such a cause. Life is much crueler than even you can imagine, Miss Granger. It is my wish that you never have to fully understand that fact."

She nodded at this, remembering sitting next to her dying mother's bed, and then with a deep breath, she stepped forward until she was right in front of him. She looked up at him and simply said, "Thank you for telling me the truth." She hoped he understood what she was trying to convey. "I know you wanted me to learn more about who you really are because you thought I had mistaken ideas. Now I do. I see no difference." She looked down at the floor, afraid. "If you are ready, you may take me home, sir."

Instead of taking her elbow, he swept both arms around her and pulled her tight against his chest. As they spun away, she thought she felt his chin rest against the top of her head.

They arrived in his office, and he held her tightly for just a moment longer, while the dizziness passed. She clung to him, as her heart raced in her chest.

"There you are!" said Simon.

Mr. Snape nearly threw her away from him, as he turned away. "A rather dull-witted observation, Simon. I expect better from you than shouted inanities. Miss Granger was interested in reading up on magic. I took her to Spinner's End. As you can see, we're back. I'm sure she can put off her studies for whatever you needed her for."

Simon frowned at him as Mr. Snape walked over to his desk. He wouldn't look Simon in the eye until he was seated behind his desk again.

"I wasn't looking for Hermione; I was looking for you. I came to go over the new papers that arrived from Janssen today and couldn't find you anywhere."

Mr. Snape looked up at him and cleared his throat. "Well, now you have. What did you want to go over?"

Hermione watched in sadness as he grew just as cold and remote as he'd been when she'd entered the room not thirty minutes before.

"I will leave you gentlemen to your business," she said.

Simon looked at her and nodded with a smile. Mr. Snape didn't look at her at all.

* * *

Hermione stood in the drive and waved to the carriages as they drove down the avenue. Simon stood next to her and Nigel and Grace were on his other side. Only Clara waved back, and they could still see her pale pink handkerchief fluttering outside the window until the trees took it out of sight.

The children decided to go for a run across the gravel and Hermione and Simon ambled along after them.

"I don't know what to say to make you feel better," she said.

"Just knowing you care helps. It would be worse if I faced this completely alone. I'll survive. I've faced worse."

She wrapped her hand around his elbow and squeezed.

Despite the fact that Easter was in another week, winter had yet to relinquish its hold on the land. The buds on the trees were sill tightly furled like millions of tiny little fists. As if they, too, had turned petulant from the overlong dreariness.

"Simon, may I ask you a question about Mr. Snape?"

"Surely. Although I think you still owe me a few tales from the other side."

"True. And I shall tell you all about how I mortally insulted him the day I met him later, but first, I was wondering if you might tell me of a woman named Lily? Have you heard him speak of her?"

Simon stopped and turned to her. "_Lily Evans_? Yes, I've heard about her. I already told you somewhat. Lily Evans was evil. Why do you ask? Is this just idle curiosity? Or are you going to begin dueling ghosts as well?"

She was so caught short by his sudden understanding that she couldn't hide her expression.

He winced. "Oh, Hermione. How long has this been going on?"

"I think since I was a little girl, actually."

He grimaced in pain and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugging her tight. "Don't, girl. You don't want this. Lily vanquished Elspeth in the end. It's not too much to say she died cursing Lily's name. I love that man more than anyone on this earth, but I will tell you straight, his love for her is a warped and twisted thing and it hurts him. You can't fight that ghost. Find another, Hermione. You have less chance of finding happiness with him than I do with Clara. I would have shoved you in that carriage to find a husband myself if I'd known."

She bit her lip but couldn't stop the frustrated tears, as Simon held her.

* * *

Two floors above, Severus Snape watched as Simon pulled Miss Granger into an embrace. He snarled and spun away from the window, snatching up the bottle of ink on his desk and smashing it against the wall.

* * *

Ya know, Slytherins think too much.

I swear, I will get back on reviews, and PM's and emails tomorrow. I have no plans but to sit at my desk and type. :-)


	33. Thaw

AN: Ha! I answered all my current reviews! Notice the qualifying word. Current...

* * *

The day after the Beaton women had left for London held the first hope of spring. The sky had cleared overnight, and the sun poured down on the land, stirring the birds to greater bursts of song.

Hermione had a very difficult time trying to keep her charges attention and eventually gave up, telling them to gather their things for a walk outside.

Once out the door, the three of them set off through the park, Grace and the Little Lord cutting a swath across the imaginary decks of treasure ships with their little wooden swords.

"Come along, my pirate crew, we're off to capture booty!" she said, pointing to the ornamental pond with its faux Grecian ruin.

One of the previous baron's many useless excesses, the folly was a lovely bit of foolishness, and the children's favorite place to play. It had a roof and several Doric columns placed just so, so that it was architecturally sound, and yet looked about to crumble to dust. The ivy had barely begun to establish itself, and the winter effect was of skeletal hands grasping at the base. Along the front, she could see pruned rose bushes and assumed this would be a charming place to be in the summer.

Nigel and Grace raced off around the pond, and Hermione took the time to walk along the grounds, inspecting the sleeping garden beds and the various fountains and statues. She reached down and plucked up a lonely dried leaf and crushed it in her hand.

Winter leaves always fascinated her. The trees put so much effort into these small bursts of life and yet, big or small, broad or narrow, they always ended up spent and easily crushed. She thought they were rather symbolic. How easily life could be crushed out. A vital and thriving man or woman could be so much dust without warning. A life ready to embark on a new and thrilling adventure in spring could end up as barren and grey as the winter trees in autumn.

Hermione felt as if she had gone dormant for winter a long, long time ago and feared her spring would never come.

She followed along behind the children as they raced along seemingly as carefree as the wind.

It was only an illusion. Nigel and Grace were far from carefree. She had only been here for a month, but she had picked up on their quiet clinginess straight away. The two of them lived in a world where the things they cared about could vanish in an instant, and so they tried to keep what they cared for as close as possible. Mostly, Simon and their father.

Hermione had felt oddly proud the first time Grace had left the room and stopped to touch her as she was in the habit of doing. It was a strange little ritual that they all performed to one degree or another, a touch on the shoulder, a stroke along the hair, as if they needed to reassure each other that they were all still there. Grace was merely the most obvious, walking about and touching everyone in the room before she left. It was a small ritual that now included Hermione.

However, children being the resilient creatures that they are, the two little Snapes still managed to find time to simply be children. She envied them. She wished desperately some days that she could go back to being a child as well.

She thought of Mr. Snape and Simon and grimaced. They had never been allowed to be children. What had life been like for them? She couldn't really imagine. She thought of her own childhood in Pearheath, and how she had raised her tiny fists against the iron bars of the class system, feeling terribly oppressed. How naive that was. She'd certainly been aware there were less fortunate people, but she'd had no idea of the truth. Her parents had sheltered her as best they could. Right up until the moment they abandoned her to the ultimate, cold truth, that the sap of life could be so effortlessly cut off, leaving one easily crushed to dust.

She opened her hand and let the chilly breeze blow the dust off her glove.

"Come look in the ghost house, Miss Granger!" Grace called.

She looked up and followed them down the slope to the Dower house.

"Why is it the ghost house?" she asked. "Has it got a ghost?"

"Papa says no," Nigel said, obviously disappointed. "But look inside!"

The three of them leaned their faces against the window, and she laughed. "Oh! I do see. It _is_ a ghost house!"

From where they stood they had an excellent view through what looked to be a study, out into a parlor, or drawing room. Every bit of furniture was covered in white sheets, including the paintings on the walls.

The house was a good size and yet exuded a hominess that was enchanting.

She followed after the children, pressing her face to each pane of glass and imagining the house filled with generation after generation of Mothers-in-law and smiled. This was a comfortable home. This was a place to sit and enjoy the setting of a sun through the tall windows. This was a place where one could feel at home. She was fascinated.

"I thought I remembered punctuality being one of your strengths, Miss Granger."

She whipped her head around and found Mr. Snape standing a few feet away with the wind tossing his hair about and toying with the flaps on his greatcoat.

"Good heavens!" she said, looking up at the sky. "Is it time for their lessons with you already? I've totally lost track of the day! I am so sorry, sir!"

He smirked and held up a hand. He hadn't even taken the time to put on gloves or a hat. "Calm yourself, Miss Granger. The children have been trapped by the weather long enough. I'm sure the chance to run has done them more good than another day cooped up in the classroom." He gestured at the house behind her. "What are you all doing that has made you lose track of time so?"

"The children find it amusing to see the furniture all covered up."

"And you?" he asked softly. "What has you so fascinated?"

She blushed and looked down. "I couldn't actually say to be honest. It is a charming house, isn't it?"

"Is it? Let us see."

He walked around her and over to the kitchen door. It seemed as if he barely paused, before the lock clicked, and he pushed his way inside. Nigel and Grace whispered fiercely to each other with excitement as they followed him. Hermione looked around, but no one was about. Not even the Manor house could be seen from their vantage.

She followed behind them feeling inexplicably nervous.

She closed the door after her and looked around at the empty kitchen. The children's footsteps echoed loudly in the mostly stone room. It had an enormous fireplace, big enough to stand in, and long worktops built along two walls. There was only one ancient table, too big to be moved, the rest of the furniture was gone. An enormous iron pot, crusted with rust, hung on a hook over the stove.

Mr. Snape stood in the middle of the room, staring around speculatively.

"It reminds me of a potions classroom," she said when she walked up next to him.

He flicked his eyes at her and then over to the fireplace. "With its own Floo," he quipped, gesturing toward it.

"I've never used a Floo."

"Your education is still incomplete. We shall remedy that in time."

She smiled brightly. "There's enough room in here that a cook and a kitchen maid wouldn't get in the way."

He shook his head. "House-elves. They would take up even less room." He lifted a hand toward the pantry cupboard. "Then we could use that for storing potions ingredients."

"But where would we store the food?" she asked, joining in the game.

"If we had house-elves, we could keep the food in Manchester. Hell, they could cook at Spinner's End, and we could have the whole damned thing for a lab."

"Could you have a Floo at Spinner's End? That way we could just dash back and forth to use the library."

"Look, Papa!"

They both turned and followed Grace's voice out if the kitchen and down the hall, where they found her and her brother in a large room lined with empty shelves, with large sheets covering two sizable chairs and a library table.

Snape turned to her with flashing eyes and smirked. "Or we could bring the Library here," he said.

She grinned at him and then blushed and looked down at her feet, trying to school her features into something that might look a little more discreet than heart-on-sleeve.

She changed the subject to forestall what she was sure would be an impending disaster. "The Little Lord said you left early this morning on business. I hope it was productive?"

He cleared his throat and herded Grace out of the room. "I'm going to build a saw mill on the outskirts of the village. There are enough craftsmen in the area that I thought they could build furniture. Simon has decided what fields to turn into forest. It will do the pillocks no good if they cut down all the trees we have. I need to hire someone to oversee the operation. I left this morning to see if I could recruit an old acquaintance."

"Mr. McKenzie?"

Snape turned to her with a wry smirk. "Exactly. It's past time he got away from cotton dust. It clogs his lungs."

"Is there something you could do for him? I mean his lungs?"

Snape scowled. "I have done. McKenzie thinks I have wretched taste in spirits, but is too gracious to refuse a glass. I have been dosing him for years."

"You are a good friend."

"The devil I am. He would have been dead ten years ago if I hadn't, and I needed him to perform a service for me. Now I need him again."

She fell silent after that.

They toured the rest of the house, each lost in their own thoughts, as they followed Nigel and Grace. When they had seen enough, they all filed back to the kitchen and slipped out into the garden.

Snape locked the door again as Hermione started up the slope after the children. When she'd gained the top of the rise, she looked back down to see him coming along behind her. As he rose above the shadow of the hill, the sun struck his face reflecting in his eyes.

"They _are_ brown," she said quietly.

He stopped with their faces on the same level. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your eyes. I've always wondered if they were actually black, or if they were just a very dark brown. I finally have my answer."

His eyes widened just a fraction, and he blushed.

She smiled, charmed by his reaction.

He looked behind him at the Dower house and then squared his shoulders and looked back up at her.

"Miss Granger," he said, his face taking on that intense look again. "I think, perhaps, it is more than time that I told you—"

"_There you are!_"

They both twisted to the side to see Simon walking swiftly towards them with Nigel and Grace running along beside him laughing.

"I came back from my riding lesson and found my entire family missing!" he said. "No note. No word left with Violet or Mrs. Cropper. You gave me a terrible fright."

"We just went for a walk," snapped Mr. Snape. "It's not the bloody end of the world!"

Simon's cheerful smile froze and then collapsed into a look of shocked hurt, before it smoothed over into something much more inscrutable.

Grace and Nigel both went still.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Snape said, in a more conciliatory tone. "Were you looking for me for a reason? Did you have something you wished to discuss?"

Simon looked at him with reproach, before shaking his head. "I was looking for Hermione, actually. I wanted to ask her if she would like to go riding tomorrow."

Snape scowled and flung his hand at her. "Well, there she is. Ask away." He turned and started walking back to the house. Nigel and Grace followed along like skittish colts. Simon and Hermione fell into place behind them.

"I would enjoy going riding with you, Simon," she said. "But I'm afraid I don't have the accoutrements. I have no riding habit or even decent boots. Perhaps another time, when I've had a chance to amend my wardrobe."

"Alright," he said. "I was just rather proud of myself today and wanted to do something besides ride in a circle with people looking at me like I'm an overgrown child." He frowned at the man walking ahead of them. "Not that I don't still feel like one," he muttered.

From the way his back stiffened, Hermione could tell that Mr. Snape had heard him. She wondered about what he had been about to tell her, but the time to ask had plainly passed.

* * *

Hermione ended the lesson with a deep curtsy to the Little Lord, followed by a hug for both of her charges, just as Mr. Snape opened the classroom door and entered, ready to take over their lessons.

"Miss Granger. You have visitors in the drawing room," he said, as he walked past without looking at her.

"I do?"

He graced her with the look he held back for special occasions like idiotic questions and just waved her out of the room with an imperious hand.

She smoothed down her skirts and patted at her hair as she headed out the door and closed it quietly behind her.

She walked across to the drawing room and squealed.

"Alice!" She ran across the room and hugged her aunt and then turned and embraced her uncle as well. "What are you doing here? This is a wonderful surprise!"

"I'm here to take you shopping, love. Severus contacted us yesterday and asked if we would be available to help you spruce up your wardrobe. He said you needed a new riding habit, amongst other things."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "He never mentioned anything to me," she said.

"Didn't he? Well, then. It must have been a surprise. Go on, get yourself ready. Mercury will be ferrying us both back and forth, but we still have a lot of ground to cover on foot."

"Mind you, it will have to be one at a time," Mercury put in.

"Of course, dear," Alice said, brushing imaginary lint off his robes. "Not even Severus could side-along two Muggles at once."

Hermione smirked and hurried out of the room.

She stopped to poke her head in the classroom door and said, "Thank you, sir."

He turned and looked at her and gave her a graceful nod. "Think nothing of it, Miss Granger. Do you have enough funds? I could give you part of your salary now; you need only ask."

"No, sir. I have enough. I shall return in all due haste."

"Take your time, Miss Granger. We will survive a day without you."

She smiled and went to close the door, but stopped and asked, "How many people could you side-along at once?"

He scowled at her in annoyance and replied, "Three, if pressed, but I couldn't guarantee all of their body parts would make the trip. Why do you ask?"

"Mere curiosity, sir."

"Then I would ask you to take your curiosity elsewhere and stop interrupting my class."

He looked so much like her old professor that she had to stifle a giggle as she closed the door.

Hermione had a dreadful headache. Spending a day running around Diagon Alley had been far more overwhelming than she would have thought. It was like being a beggar at a banquette she wasn't allowed to partake in. She felt an odd mixture of fierce desire and utter despair that her Aunt and Uncle had done their best to jolly her out of, with a fair amount of success.

"I declare, my poor feet have been quite run off. I think shopping is one of the most wasteful expenditures of time ever invented," opined Mercury when they sat down to eat at The Leaky Cauldron. "How you women have the energy to even sit up straight after all this running around, I will never know." He signaled for a menu and then slumped back in his chair. "Are we done? Please say we are done."

Hermione suppressed a chuckle as Alice gave him a pitying look.

"Honestly, Mercury," Alice said. "It is not as if you had to do anything more strenuous than find something to do while we were consulting seamstresses and shrink down the occasional parcel." She reached out and patted his hand "I do appreciate your valiant personal sacrifice however. Just think of how much more wretched it would have been if I hadn't thought to bring a book of Muggle dress patterns to that lovely Madame Malkin. You would still be parading up and down Bond Street trying to pass the time while Hermione was getting stabbed with pins. And it would have been at _least _a week before Hermione had her new riding habit from the tailors."

She turned to Hermione and smiled. "As it is, you have quite the new wardrobe. Isn't it marvelous how much easier it is to have your clothes made with magic? And I must say, I really think you should have allowed me to buy you that dusty rose set of robes. I think the color would have been most complimentary against your skin and they might even have gone a good way towards helping you embrace your magical side."

"I wouldn't have had anywhere to wear them, Alice," Hermione replied. "I live in a Muggle manor. What would the servants think if they see the governess gadding about dressed like a Gypsy? I agree, they were lovely, but until my magic actually makes a reappearance, they would have been a foolish waste."

Alice fell silent as they placed their orders.

"How is your quest to reclaim your magic coming along?" Mercury asked.

"Well, to be honest," Hermione said with a sigh, "it doesn't seem to be coming at all. I have thrown myself into my studies—I now know hundreds of spells by heart—but it's all just theory, words and hand motions. Without a spark of magic, I cannot even be sure I am doing it correctly. Mr. Snape assures me that my magic is, indeed, still there, but I can't feel anything. It is all so very vexing. If I am the one that shut my magic away, how can I not be able to liberate it?"

"I admit it is vexing," Mercury said. "However, the mind is a strange, uncharted territory, and no one really understands how it works. I suspect you locked it away and put the key in a very safe place inside your head. You just need to figure out where your safe place is. The key is sure to be nearby."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the table before her. "Your words make a curious amount of sense. I will think on them further."

"Why don't you ask Severus to have a look around inside?"

Mercury and Hermione looked at Alice with confusion.

"Ask him to do that thing he does. Mind reading. Maybe he can actually find your block or your key."

Hermione flushed at the idea of Mr. Snape being able to read her thoughts. How humiliating would that be? If she was serious about being a witch, she would have to be willing to make a few sacrifices, but did her pride have to be one of them?

"He said I was a natural Occlumens, meaning it is apparently very hard to read my thoughts. He has never actively tried to read my mind, so perhaps it could be done. Perhaps I _should_ ask him to try. I really don't want to be a Muggle anymore."

"Tell me," Alice asked, with a gleam in her eye. "Does your new-found enthusiasm to embrace your magical side have anything to do with a certain tall and rather acerbic man of our acquaintance?"

Hermione felt her face flush and turned to her food.

"If you are talking about my employer, then I beg of you to keep that simple fact at the forefront of your mind. He is my _employer_. My previous excess of enthusiasm has been tempered by that fact, and I will thank you to not make anything more of it. I respect him and have found in him a mentor for my magical studies. That is all."

Alice's eyes gleamed with mischief. "I daresay that is not all for _him_. I believe he is quite taken with you, my dear. I think he has been for quite some time."

"Alice, leave the girl alone," Mercury interrupted. "You cannot claim to believe any such thing. We barely know him. I think you read too much into a simple request to escort Hermione on her shopping trip. The man is a wizard. If he was interested in Hermione, he would have simply told her. As you well know, my dear, we have little use for your Muggle prancing and dancing around obvious points."

Hermione's mind returned to that moment the day before when Mr. Snape had been about to tell her something. Could that have been it? Could he have been about to express his affection? Declare an intention? It would have explained why he had been so waspish about being interrupted. Her heart started to thump in her chest. Could he be attracted to her? Had she been so consumed with hiding her own feelings that she missed his?

"That does nothing to disprove my point," Alice said with a wave of her hand. "You were willing to do a fair bit of dancing and prancing to win my hand, and you had little to no understanding of my world. Severus does. He is well-versed in Muggle society. I would think it highly irregular for him to just express an intent to start a liaison with a Muggle woman. I think he would be far more subtle."

"But Hermione is a witch," Mercury said stubbornly.

"Yes, but she sees herself as a Muggle; perhaps he is just confused as to how to approach her."

Hermione realized the logic of her aunt's view, and the more obvious interpretation it brought with it. She broke into the debate. "If he is as well-versed in Muggle society as you say, and I concur on that point, then he would understand how inappropriate any sort of connection between us would be as long as I am working for the family. He never would have asked me to see to his children if he had any tender motives. Honestly, Alice. I think this conversation has gone beyond the pale."

Alice frowned and then her face brightened. "Quit."

"Excuse me?"

"Quit! I know I am right, and what better way to prove it? Leave his employ, and I will bet you my entire collection of turbans that he will find an excuse to show up on whatever doorstep you move on to. I tell you, the man is smitten."

"I'm not going to leave my position just to prove some far-fetched theory of yours!" Hermione cried. "I have a responsibility to the children! I also happen to love my job and have no intention of leaving until they have no further use for me."

"Don't be obtuse, Hermione. You wouldn't be leaving the children for long; you would be right back with them just as soon as you married him."

Mercury seemed to have had enough. "Madam, what you are suggesting smacks of gamesmanship, and I highly doubt Hermione is of a mind to play games with her life now that she has finally found some happiness. You go too far."

Alice threw her napkin down on her plate. "I am only trying to see to her best interests! The prancing and dancing _is_ a waste of time! Anyone can see they are well-suited. I think my niece has had quite enough of sitting around waiting for her life to turn fair. She should seize it by the lapels and shake it until it spits out something good for once!"

Mercury dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and placed it next to his plate, before rising from the table.

"Hermione, finish your meal. I shall take your Aunt home and then return for you in a few minutes."

Alice sighed and stood up. "Think about what I have said, love."

Hermione smirked. "I can hardly do otherwise, now, can I?"

Alice grimaced. "I suppose I could have been a good deal more tactful. I blame these wizards and witches I spend so much time with now. They are all so free with their opinions. It is highly liberating. Perhaps too much so."

She leaned down and kissed Hermione on the forehead. "Enjoy riding, love. I would very much like it if you could come riding with me sometime. I have a new mare with the sweetest disposition. Perhaps your _employer_ would be so good as to allow you to come visit for a few hours on Sunday."

"I shall inquire. Thank you, Alice. For everything."

Alice opened her mouth to say something else, but Mercury huffed and dragged her away. "Come along, dear. You can say it in a letter."

"Oh, alright. Take care, love."

"You as well, aunt."

Hermione turned to her food when her aunt and uncle left to return to Otterwold. She pushed her fork around her plate and then set it down with a sigh. Was it possible he returned her regard? There were moments where one could have easily convinced her it was so, but then again, there were moments where she wasn't sure he could abide being in the same room with her as well. The man was a mystery.

She needed to spend more time simply talking to him. Their walk through the Dower house had given her a glimpse of a man she would truly like to know better, and yet he had shut himself away so swiftly after that. How was she to spend more time with him when he was so far away, even in the same room?

She suspected Mercury was right. He was a wizard. If he was interested in her, he had no need to dance around the subject. He was certainly free enough with his opinions when he expressed them and clear enough in his demands when he made them. She had no reason to believe he would turn bashful about that subject. The idea of Severus Snape being shy was preposterous.

Why would he have gone through the subterfuge of hiring her if he had designs on her? She highly doubted he had developed feelings for her after she had arrived at Wrenham Park. She hadn't been there very long. She couldn't see Severus Snape being the type to fall in love that quickly. The very idea seemed absurd. He was far too practical.

No. The man was a widower who seemed perfectly content to spend his days looking after his children. He was obviously not interested in making another match while he had so many other pressures on his mind. She had no reason at all to think he would take a fancy to his governess and former student when he did.

Mercury came back in the door and she stood up and shrugged into her pelisse, buttoning it up before reaching for her bonnet.

Once they had gained the alley around the corner he turned to her. "Hermione, forgive me for speaking indelicately, but when you ponder your aunt's flights of fancy, please be mindful of the fact that a wizard might be very interested in you with no mind to marriage at all. That sort of thing is scandalous in your society, not in ours."

"I do know this, Mercury, but thank you for your concern."

"She just wants you to be happy, you know. She can be a bit overly enthusiastic in her wishes, which is a bit surprising, considering. Every time I decide she's Slytherin to the core, she does something to confuse the issue. She is a remarkable woman."

Hermione laughed. "I know this as well, Uncle."

Mercury smiled. "I do so like being called that," he said, before he spun them away with a pop.

* * *

Alice is losing patience. But not you guys. Nope.


	34. Foolish

**AN:** I have two announcements to make. First: This story is looking to stretch to 40 chapters. I know, I know, you guys are really bummed. So sorry. *snrk* Second, I am going to be behind on answering reviews in order to spend more time editing the last chaps. If I can get them all done and to the betas, then I will try and finish this story in a spectacular chap-spam finale. If not, we shall continue apace. lol.

* * *

He heard their excited chatter and carefree laughter coming up the stairs long before he saw them. Hermione and Simon walked down the hallway in their riding clothes looking flushed and happy, as they had nearly every day for the last month. The bright spark in their eyes accentuated their countenances, leaving them looking as attractive as any pair of young lovers could be.

Hermione unpinned her riding hat and tossed her gloves inside before turning the light of her shining gaze on Severus, who had been standing in the middle of the hallway feeling like a gormless idiot watching them.

"That was a brilliant ride!" she cried. "I don't remember the last time I had as much pleasure! You should join us, one of these mornings, sir!"

He raised an eyebrow and replied, "I think not."

"It really is good fun, Severus," added Simon. "You should learn to ride. I cannot explain the feeling of being on horseback, but I just know you would enjoy it!"

Hermione looked at him with hope lighting her face. He could read nothing in her honey-colored eyes. All he could tell of her feelings was what was written on her face. There was far too much room for misinterpretation. He couldn't abide the insecurity it left him with.

"I could teach you, sir, if you would like. We could walk the horses far away from the stables, and I could teach you in private, so you wouldn't have to experience the frustration of having the grooms watch you if you made a mistake. I assure you, I am very knowledgeable on the subject."

He sneered at her. "You are not knowledgeable in certain other areas that I may well require, Miss Granger. Namely, you do not have the magic necessary to fix a broken neck, should I pitch off the other side of the damnable beast." He stopped, belatedly remembering how her parents had died and feeling like an utter cad at the look of hurt on her face. In a softer voice he added, "No, thank you. I am not interested. I have never known how to ride, nor have I ever felt I have suffered for the lack. I see no reason to change now."

He turned to go, and she grabbed his arm. Why did she have to keep touching him?

"But it would be fun. Trust me; there isn't a horse in that stable able to hurt a fly. They are all too old and too sweet natured. You could come out with us and take the air! Riding is so… liberating. When you take a jump, it feels as if you are flying!"

He scowled at her hand on his arm, until she pulled it away. He looked back up into her eyes and said, "What use would I have for pretending to fly, Miss Granger, when I actually _can?_" He darted an irritated look at Simon before turning back to her. "I leave such banal _Muggle_ pleasures to the two of you."

The look of shocked hurt on their faces twisted the knife of pain already in his chest. He turned on his heel and walked away.

* * *

Snape walked through the stables trying to block out the smell. He hated horses. He'd always hated horses. They were just too damnably large and powerful to be that highly-strung and cowardly.

A large sorrel mare stretched her neck out and lipped at his coat. He turned a baleful eye on her, and she nickered and pulled her head back into her box stall, unimpressed.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Snape turned and saw the head groom strolling up to him.

"Rodgers, tell me about the Baron's horses."

"Well, sir, as you can see, we have mostly what one would call ladies' mounts. They are all gentle and biddable and, if I may say so, sir, not very exciting. They do well enough for what they are needed for. The ladies of the house aren't much interested in anything but a gentle ride. Nalla, here, is a bit past her prime now. She's been the Dowager's for twenty years now. I had Mr. Simon learn on her. The others are all about the same.

"The old Baron wasn't much for riding, more interested in his matched teams. Now they are something to boast about, but they are all in London at the moment. Lovely bunch, the lot of them."

The groom turned back to him. "Are you interested in riding, sir? We haven't seen you out here much."

"No," Snape replied. "How do you rate Mr. Simon's skills?"

"I'd say he's come along well. I suspect he will want something with a bit more stamina in the legs soon. He has a fair seat, and I think he's growing tired of being limited. But he's a cautious man still."

"And Miss Granger?"

The groom's pleasant smile broadened. "Now there's a rider. I give her Posey over there. She's the youngest and the most spry, but I think Miss Granger would be better suited to a more spirited horse. Posey is a bit of a baby."

Snape nodded and turned back to the groom. "I want to purchase new animals," he said, obviously pleasing the groom. "I want you to find Mr. Simon and Miss Granger horses that would meet their needs." He sighed and started walking out of the stables. "And you might as well get a couple of damned ponies for the Baron and his sister as well."

"Very good, sir," Rodgers said, keeping up with him. "I can take Billy and leave in the morning. Shall I charge them to the estate?"

"No. I will be purchasing them with my own funds. I shall send Mrs. Cropper with a purse to cover your travels, but you should have the bills charged to me personally."

"That I shall do, sir. Can I ask, sir? These horses wouldn't happen to be a wedding present, would they?"

Snape stopped dead and spun around. "Why would you ask that?"

The groom looked immediately contrite and twisted his cap into a wad in his hands. "No reason, sir! I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that the two of them seem rather fond of each other. I let my imagination run away with my mouth."

Snape read the fear and humiliation in the man's eyes and pursed his lips in annoyance. The man was just a fool, nothing more. He thought the two made a handsome couple.

Snape turned away and walked back to the house.

Was there anyone who didn't think Simon and Miss Granger made a handsome couple?

* * *

Hermione ran across the grass with her skirts lifted practically to her knees. Her riding boots echoed loudly as she ran up the stairs, into the foyer, and up to the second floor. She was practically out of breath as she threw open the door to Mr. Snape's office.

The man jumped out of his seat in alarm and rushed around the desk to meet her as she dashed over and threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight.

"She's beautiful! She's absolutely beautiful! Thank you, sir! Have you seen her yet? She's gorgeous!" Hermione grabbed at his hand and started to pull him toward the door, but it was like trying to lead a tree by a branch. She gave up and danced an impromptu jig, before throwing her arms around him again and hugging him tightly then stepping back and beaming at him.

Finally overwhelmed, she burst into tears.

"Miss Granger, get a hold of yourself!" he said, hurriedly pressing a handkerchief into her hands.

"I can't! You don't know how much this means to me!" she wailed. "I used to have my own pony when I was a little girl. I lost her when my world started to go wrong. All through the terrible years after my parents died, I used to dream about—about someone, someday giving me a new pony." She sniffed loudly and mopped at her face. "Oh, I know it sounds silly. It sounds dreadfully silly, when said out loud, but it means ever so much to me. Thank you, sir. I don't know how I could ever thank you enough."

She finally looked up and saw he was pale as a ghost and dreadfully confused.

"Miss Granger, the ponies were supposed to be for Nigel and Grace. I told them to get you a bloody horse."

She burst into a peal of laughter at the comically horrified look on his face, with its trace of impending doom for the errant groomsmen.

"It _is_ a horse. She's a lovely horse, sir. I am just dreadful at explaining myself." She wiped at her eyes again. "I know I am making a spectacle of myself but I cannot help it. I'm _happy_, Mr. Snape. Not happy until I return to my miserable existence. Not content with what small joys I've managed to salvage from my lot in life. I'm happy. I'm happy to be here, I'm happy to have met your children. I am happy to be learning again. I'm happy to be useful. And I am very, very happy that you bought me a pony. Even if she is a very large and lovely _horse_. I am beginning to believe that I might just stay happy for a very long time."

She watched his face intently, looking for any sign he understood what she was trying to say. His dark eyes glittered, as he stared into her own, with a fierce expression on his face. The line between his eyes deepened as his brows danced in alternating expressions of concern and confusion. She didn't see understanding.

He raised a hand toward her, but then pulled it back and ran it through his own hair.

"Miss Granger, I—"

His words stopped at the sound of Nigel and Grace running up the stairs screaming "Papa! Papa! We have our own ponies!"

He closed his mouth and stepped back, but Hermione was quick to grab onto his arm.

"Please, finish what you were going to say," she whispered, staring at him intently.

He gave her a fleeting look of sadness before he pulled away.

"I was going to say, 'it's just a bloody horse,' Miss Granger."

Hermione made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a kitten growling, as the children raced into the room and started dancing around their father.

* * *

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I can't believe it has only been six weeks since we arrived. I know I said similar in my last letter, but London really is an interminable bore. It is an endless ritual of daily visitations and nightly balls. Have I told you how characterless the food is at Almacks? The only people I find with worthy conversation are my cousins, Beth and Giles. Beth is a love, and Giles is smart, witty, and holds a variety of interests that I never thought interesting until he spoke of them. His wife, Suzanne, is very kind-hearted as well, but her interests are restrained to the usual gossip about the fashionable beau monde._

_Mother and I have been doing our level best to keep to our budget. I am very proud of how parsimonious mother has been. When guests arrive for tea, she is generous, but later, if we haven't been invited anywhere, it is strictly bread and cheese. My sisters have had a harder time adjusting, but mother is inflexible. _

_Mr. Snape will be happy to know that half the staff at Wrenham House have found new work elsewhere. Mother led them all to believe that their employment was tenuous and gave them all a chance to seek positions elsewhere while in town. A large number have kicked the fence for better pasturage. She hinted that if Mr. Snape wanted to be rid of more, he should send them to town._

_It continues to be obvious that the Beaton women are doomed to scrape the dregs. We are well received, and no one has withdrawn their esteem, but word of our scandals seems to have created a filter through which decent marriage material cannot pass. Mother has begun to despair._

_Kate has had an offer, and mother has already told her that if she feels the same at the end of the Season, she may accept. It is that odious, pig-faced man I told you of, Babbage. The one with the florid face and ample girth. He is the third son of Viscount Altonley and worth twenty thousand. That last fact makes him very handsome in Kate's eyes. Mother keeps her opinions to herself, which should tell you that she hates him, but is trying not to for Kate's sake._

_Mary has found herself an attentive gentleman that has a shockingly loud laugh that mother says goes straight to the same spot in her neck and pains her every time she hears it. Mary has been ordered to keep looking. He is second in line to be the next Baron Childers, so I suspect the laugh will win in the end. We will see._

_As for myself, I have been swarmed with insipidness. I believe word has made its way around that I am available to everyone without a chance at anyone else. I stay very close to mother, so she can see what I've been left with. Perhaps when she gets as sick of the penniless, chinless, beau nasties as I am, then Mr. Simon will look better in her eyes when we return. I have begun planting the seeds. It is not as if she were unaware of my feelings, so I must be stinting in my hints. _

_I have two more bits of news that would interest you personally. I paid another call on Mrs. Penry-Jones. She is a very amusing creature. I really do think I like her, despite her ways. I had the pleasure of meeting Major Penry-Jones, and I must say, I do not know what to make of the man. He is very quiet and seems easily cowed by a look from his wife. She obviously has a firm grip on the reins in that marriage. I suspect there is a story there, but I shall never know it. _

_She asked me to convey her compliments, but I am sure her letter arrived before mine and you know all of this already._

_The other tidbit of gossip pertains to your relations. I do hope this does not bring you too much grief, but I suspect, from the fact that you only ever mentioned the one aunt, that you are not close with the rest._

_Mother had the dubious pleasure of meeting Sir Andrew Granger, Bt. and his wife. Their daughter, Violet, was making her debut this Season. I do not know what was said, Mother won't give any details, but suffice it to say, their attempts to ingratiate themselves failed spectacularly. Mother gave them the cut direct at the very next soiree, and I was rather surprised, considering our own lessened status this season, that many have taken up her example. The ladies at Almack's did not give their approval for Miss Granger to dance the waltz. _

_It was the last mortal blow. Sir Andrew took his family and retired back to the country._

_Miss Granger will have to settle for a country gentleman. Personally, I think they are to be preferred._

_By the by, I saw a lovely gown the other night. It was purple. Not that you would care. I just thought I would mention it._

_Give my fondest regards to any there that would care for such trifles. _

_Yours,_

_Clara_

Snape watched as Simon danced attendance on Miss Granger as she read her letter. They both laughed, as they made a game of her trying to shield it from view and him trying to dance behind her and read over her shoulder. Even Nigel and Grace laughed at their antics. Snape tried to find it amusing, but failed.

He felt absurd. He knew he should be happy for them. They both deserved each other after the lives they'd had. Instead, he burned with shame. How could he have ever hoped to compete with his own, younger, more handsome ward? He had been utterly thick to have brought her here. Why had he resorted to such an elaborate ruse and not simply courted her like a gentleman? The answer to that last wasn't difficult to fathom. He'd been lying to himself. He hadn't been aware of just how far his own feelings had already run until he realized he had already lost the race.

All that was left for him now was to try and make his peace with it. He was failing spectacularly, and it was humiliating.

She finally turned her letter over to Simon with a giggle, and Snape felt as if he suddenly couldn't breathe. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands became sweaty. Good lord, it was even possible he was going to faint.

"Oh look! She's decorated the border with her inky fingers again. She's made this one a rose, see?"

"I did see, Simon. I read it first, if you will recall," the girl replied, with a throaty chuckle. "I think that might have been her thumb."

Snape slammed his book shut and stormed out of the drawing room.

He hurried down the hall and into his room, where he slumped into the chair of his dressing table. He began immediately tearing at his cravat, desperate for more air. When the elaborate knot was gone, he unwound it and ripped it off, swiftly popping the buttons on his collar.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, ragged sigh, before looking at himself in the mirror. He stared at the thick ridge of hideous scarring that ran from his collarbone to just below the curve of his chin. He folded his collar closed again, partially blocking it from view.

He was such a fool.

* * *

"Sir, may I ask you another question?"

He looked up and sighed, before he threw his quill down on the blotter, making her even more nervous.

"Miss Granger, why do you insist on scurrying back to your own room? You are more annoying with your comings and goings than with your questions. I would have thought it obvious that I expected questions when I told you I would tutor you!"

Hermione frowned at him. She was tired of dancing of eggshells around the man. "Perhaps the reason I keep scurrying away is because my company is so obviously oppressive to you. Do you even realize how intimidating you are anymore? Or does it just flow from you like your breath, unheeded?"

He scowled at her and then pushed up from his desk. She backed a step closer to the door and he huffed and rolled his eyes. He pulled out his wand and grabbed up an end table from the chairs by the fire and placed it on the carpet by the wall of shelves.

A few spells later, and there was a new desk, positioned perpendicular to his own. He walked over and grabbed the candlesticks from the mantle and plunked them down on the table. He backed away and threw his hand out, before turning to his own desk and making a production of furnishing her with ink, quill and a sheaf of parchment.

"Sit. In the evenings, when the children have gone to bed, you will study here. I will expect you to ask me questions, and you will expect me to be irritated and possibly short-tempered. All I ask is if you and Simon are going to titter and giggle, you find somewhere else to do it. Do we have an understanding?"

She sat in the chair he had dragged from in front of his own desk and shoved behind hers and bit her lip. "Yes, sir. Perfectly," she replied, making a note to herself to not read Clara's letters at tea anymore.

He walked around his own desk, sat down and gave her an expectant stare.

"Sir, I am confused about the concept of intent, as it applies to Dark Magic."

"What is the confusion?"

"Well, I am having trouble understanding if the spell is Dark, or the intent must be Dark to make a Dark spell work. If it is the intent, then wouldn't all spells be potentially Dark, if used with Dark intent? How does this apply to Unforgivables? I understand why they are bad; it is the underlying theory that is unclear."

He sat back and surprised her by propping his boots on the corner of his desk and folding his hands across his stomach. She'd attended many of his lectures before, but he had never looked so… at ease.

"I suspect you have already caught on to the subtext, Miss Granger. The intent is everything. Certain spells, Unforgivables being an example, cannot be utilized without an evil intent. More to the point…"

She hid a small smile, as he began his lecture, and snatched up her quill. She loved to listen to him talk. She grimaced and shoved aside the stray thought that she loved far more than that…

* * *

"_Legilimens!_"

Hermione was flooded by memories of Mr. Snape dripping on her parents' carpet. Mr. Snape billowing through the hall. Mr. Snape turning her face to a sconce to check for tear streaks. Essays with the words 'monkey scribbling' scratched across them.

The dizzying array of memories stilled, and she grabbed at her head.

"Miss Granger, stop thinking about me, and think about your _magic!_ Again! _Legilimens!_"

Hermione remembered the moment when she pulled her wand out of the box Molly had sent her and the thrill of finally being of age. She felt his interest as he loitered through watching her realize it was gone. Then her mind spun away to sitting in the garden behind her grandmother's house, watching in glee as her dolls whirled and pirouetted around each other. Next, she was in Diagon Alley flicking her new wand and looking at Mr. Snape with near adoration for bringing her there. Next, she was in his library at Spinner's End with his arms around her.

She tore her mind away with a wrenching pain.

"No! No more! It hurts!" she cried.

"It wouldn't hurt if you concentrated!" he snapped.

"I can't concentrate because it _hurts!_ I'm trying to give you what you want, sir!"

"You must push the memories closer to the surface! I can barely see them at all! It will hurt far more if I have to push past your block to get them. As it is, all I get is a cloudy stream of insipid memories of me as your teacher. I want your memories of _magic!_"

He scowled and flicked his wand at the bell pull. He stormed around the room in anger until the maid, Violet, arrived, and he ordered tea and pasties if any where to be had.

He went over to his desk and pulled open a drawer, snatching out a vial of potion.

"Here," he said, thrusting it at her.

She downed the pain potion and closed her eyes until she felt her headache begin to recede.

"It's no use, is it? I'll never figure out why my magic left."

He came and sat down heavily in the other chair before the fire. "Don't be a fool. We've only just begun looking for the cause. What kind of Gryffindor gives up after one day?"

"Gryffindor squibs," she snarled, earning an eyebrow.

"Petulance is unbecoming, Miss Granger."

She sighed. "At least I am trying. That must count for something."

"I hardly call it trying when you can't even think about anything other than the person in the room with you. We need to attempt another approach. I suggest you try writing down all of your memories about your magic, and we'll look and see if we can find a trail to follow."

She closed her eyes again and rested her head against the back of the chair.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Not as badly. But even the memory of it is uncomfortable."

She heard him stand and then the sound of water being poured. She jumped when she felt a cool wet cloth being placed over her brow.

"Just sit, you fool girl."

She nodded in response.

They sat in silent peace until the tea arrived. She sat up and pulled the cloth from her brow, recognizing his handkerchief from the mangled 'S.S.' that was one of Grace's first attempts at embroidery.

He took it back, dried it with a muttered spell and shoved it back in his pocket, as she poured. They ate in comfortable silence.

The last few weeks had been filled with them, as she read her borrowed texts, and he scribbled away on business accounts. They'd spent many hours discussing magic, as her enthusiasm had rekindled, and her desire to reclaim her birthright blossomed. They'd eventually decided to see if he could enter her mind and find her block. That hadn't been difficult, it was right on the surface of her mind. In order for him to see anything without forcing his way in, she'd had to concentrate and push the thought forward. The fact that he could barely catch the images had been a relief at first, but it had quickly turned into frustration.

"The problem isn't that you are in the room, and therefore, at the forefront of my thoughts, but that you are inextricably linked to my memories of magic," she said after a second cup of tea. "When I think of magic, I think of you, sir."

"What the devil for?"

She looked at him and scowled. "Why the devil wouldn't I?" she snapped. "Sir." Her manners had grown more blunt as a defense against his own forthright manner. Her aunt had been correct. It was rather liberating, as was the fact that he obviously didn't mind.

She took another large sip of tea and placed the cup down on the tray. "You're the one who came to take me to school. You're the one that spent the next day introducing me to the Wizarding world. You're the one that I tried to impress. You're the one that answered my questions, allowed me to keep my teeth, pushed me to be better than I was inclined to be. In short, sir, to my mind, you made me a witch. You've become my mentor. My guide. A sort of-of… Wizarding father figure."

He recoiled, clearly insulted, and stared at her in pained silence. She threw her hands up in the air, lost for how to explain what she was trying to say without offending his sensibilities.

Just then, the children came running down the hall, shouting, "They're back! They're here!"

Snape and Hermione both rose from their seats and walked to the window, to see the carriages carrying the Beaton women, their luggage, and servants driving up the avenue.

"And thus, the peaceful interludes ends," he murmured by her ear.

"I think it will be better this time around, don't you? After all, both Kate and Mary are engaged, and you've settled their marriage portions. That was the largest part of the antagonism, wasn't it?"

"That and the fact that they breathe," he muttered.

"Well, hopefully we can be done with two of the daughters. Once Miss Clara is matched, perhaps the mother will move into the Dower house." She gestured to the roof just visible beyond a swell of the land. They could see Simon hurrying back from the stables. "I suspect there will be another wedding as well," she said with a secretive smile. "I think you will have your peace and quiet soon enough."

She turned to him, and her smiled died, as his eyes shifted from his son to her.

He looked stricken.

"So soon?" he asked her in a soft voice.

"I doubt he will want to wait," she replied carefully. "Surely you wouldn't object to such a match?"

He backed away from her, shaking his head no, but staring at her with deepening loss. She reached out for him and he froze as she grabbed his hand.

"Would you? Object to the match?"

"No," he said in a strained voice. "I want what will make everyone happy, I assure you, Miss Granger. It would be the best of all possible matches, I'm sure. Now, if you will excuse me, I have things I must be doing."

"Very well." She pulled her hand back, wishing she could pry—push him to tell her more of what was going on behind those black pools of loneliness. Her fear kept her silent. If she pushed too far, if she let her feelings be known and she were to miscalculate, she could lose this place. She would lose him utterly.

Instead, she picked up her book and left the room.

* * *

And there you have it.


	35. Fate

**AN:** Congratulations to **MissLuohan**, not only for her flawless English, but also for writing the 2,000th review!

* * *

Hermione allowed the children to stay up late and listen to all the stories about their aunts' exploits in London. Clara had brought back a doll for Grace, and Lady Wrenham had brought back the rest of her sons' toy sword collection on the condition they didn't beat any of the remaining staff.

Mary and Kate were busy in the corner madly sewing their trousseaus, while Clara played the pianoforte.

Lady Wrenham patted the seat next to her with her fan, and Hermione went and sat next to her, trying to hide her nervousness at being asked to sit near the matriarch.

Simon sat next to Clara on the bench and turned the sheet music, as she played some piece of music she had picked up in London. He couldn't read it, but at a nod of her head, he was quick to do her bidding.

Hermione watched as the Dowager gave them both an assessing stare.

"I had the distasteful experience of meeting your relations while we were in London, Miss Granger."

"I had heard something to that effect, my lady."

"I wouldn't normally be as blunt in my opinions, but after the short conversation I had with them, I feel rather confident that you cannot have any good opinion of them. Or if you did, then I feel it is my duty to dispel it."

"I assure you, my lady, there is nothing anyone could say that could possibly redeem them in my eyes."

Lady Wrenham turned her gimlet eye on Hermione. "Quite," she said. "I fear the entire encounter was my fault. I was introduced to them at Lady Philbin's ball and made the mistake of asking if they were related to you. They were rather anxious to explain just how far they had set you outside of their circle. I found them to be obsequious and grasping, with no sense of shame." The Dowager looked back at the couple at the pianoforte. "I have developed a distaste for people who so easily throw away a member of their own family. I'm sure I do not have to explain why."

"No, my lady. You do not. I am only sorry that my Uncle was the cause of you having an unpleasant experience."

The older woman turned back to her with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. "They will not be causing me any more unpleasant experiences. I am rather pleased with how many doors I caused to be closed to them. It was rather affirming to know I still had enough of that sort of coin to spend. I doubt any of them will show their faces in London for at least five years."

"I know I will sound terribly uncharitable when I say that I cannot muster any sympathy for them," Hermione replied honestly.

"Nor should you."

The two women turned back to the entertainment and watched Simon and Clara laugh over a series of missed notes.

"Where is Mr. Snape?" Lady Wrenham asked, finally turning away from the couple.

"He mentioned something about returning to his office so he could work on the plans for the new saw mill after supper, my Lady."

"Does that man ever relax? I picture him endlessly scribbling over ledgers."

Hermione smiled. "He reads for his pleasure. I don't think he has much appreciation for music or conversation."

"No. I daresay he doesn't. I doubt he even knows how to dance, which might put my request in a bad light."

"I have had the honor of seeing him dance, my lady. He even knows the waltz."

Lady Wrenham's eyes widened. "How extraordinary! Well, perhaps he wouldn't be averse to my plan. I want to hold a ball here at Wrenham to celebrate both weddings. Send my two older daughters off with all the illusions of happiness I can give them, you understand. They've both chosen as well as I did, and sadly, I expect they will be as happy as I was."

Hermione chose to remain silent after this comment. Clara started playing a new piece, and both women turned to watch her again.

"What do you think Mr. Snape's thoughts on the two of them would be, Miss Granger?" Lady Wrenham asked.

"I couldn't possibly speak for him, or claim to know his mind. All I can say with clarity is that he wants his son to be happy, and class issues matter little to him."

Lady Wrenham snorted indelicately. "I was already aware of that, girl."

Simon carefully turned the page again, while counting off the beat by bobbing his head.

"He was a good match for my daughter, your Mr. Snape," said Lady Wrenham out of the blue. "I make no claims to know her thoughts either, but I do know she wouldn't tolerate any negative word against him when I saw her last. It struck me that she was much in love with him."

"I have heard similar from Mr. Simon, my Lady."

"Do you think that if I had allowed her to pass up that betrothal to The Lord Westfell, that she would still be alive today? If I had fought against my husband's wishes, could I have saved her from her fate?"

"I don't know, my Lady. There are those that believe when our time is up, there is no escape, whichever way we run. I myself used to believe that fate was something one had little control over and no way to escape."

"You don't anymore?"

Hermione smiled and gave her a slight shrug. "I think I am in the middle of trying to fight mine."

"Are you saying that you weren't fated to be a governess?" she asked with an amused glint in her eye.

"This is where I get confused. I was always told this was my fate, while at the same time, also told that great things were expected of me. It has always left me somewhat befuddled."

Lady Wrenham's amused sparkle faded away. "It never occurred to me that I would be anything other than what I am, and I wasn't. But I think perhaps I should have tried to exercise just a touch more control. I have been wasting my time trying to impress these ideas on my daughters these last three months. Only Clara is clever enough to have grasped the idea, but then she already had a reason to fight her fate. This is where philosophy leaves me, Miss Granger. How are you supposed to fight your fate when you are unsure of what it even is?"

Hermione laughed. "That is the crux of my problem, exactly. I will have to let you know at some point in the future how I did, my Lady."

Lady Wrenham smiled and patted her knee with her fan. "You do that, Miss Granger. Until then, I believe fate has caught with Miss Grace."

Hermione turned and found Grace asleep with her head on her brother's knee.

"And she put up such a good fight, too. I will take my leave. Welcome home, my lady."

Hermione scooped up Grace and carried her out of the parlor with a sleepy Nigel following behind.

* * *

Hermione rolled over and plumped the pillows again and then settled back down. Eventually, she gave up. Guests would start arriving tomorrow, and there was to be a series of small parties over the next few days, culminating in a ball on Saturday night. Hermione had no idea why she was so nervous. As far as she knew, she wasn't expected to attend at all.

She finally gave up on sleeping and climbed out of bed. Her tossing and turning had twisted her nightcap and she untied it and threw it to the side, before grabbing up her candle and walking over to the embers of her fire and stirring them back into flame. She lit her candle and walked over and set it on her dressing table. She stirred through her mess of notes on magic and sighed. It was increasingly frustrating to study when she couldn't actually _do_ any of the spells. Her head was filling with a near encyclopedic amount of utterly useless knowledge. She wasn't in the mood for magic tonight.

She grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, before slipping out of her room with the candle and heading for Mr. Snape's office to peruse his bookshelves.

She was halfway across the room, heading for his poetry books, before she noticed she wasn't alone. Mr. Snape was slumped in his chair before the unlit fire, with his long legs stretched out before him. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing for the first time, the faded Dark Mark she had read about in his history, before she had burned it all in the fire in her room. A half-full glass of wine dangled precariously from his fingers. His face was smoother in his sleep, except for the ever-present crease between his closed eyes, and she could hear his deep, rhythmic breathing as he slept.

She set her candle on his desk and walked over to him, padding silently across the carpet in her bare feet. She leaned across him and carefully plucked the glass from his hand, reaching farther to put it on the table next to him. He drew in a heavy breath through his nose, and she darted a look at his face, watching in silent horror as his eyes slowly opened.

She was going to sputter an apology, blurt some sort of explanation, but her words caught in her throat when he smiled at her. It was a sleepy, unguarded smile of sincere pleasure. He raised his hand and slid the back of his knuckled down her cheek and swiped his thumb across her lips.

"Such a beauty," he said in a sleep-roughened voice.

His hand dropped back to his lap, and his eyes slid closed again.

With a pounding heart, she leaned forward and gently kissed him on the top of his head.

She darted back to the desk, grabbed up her candle, and fled the room.

* * *

Simon walked into Snape's office and closed the door behind him, signaling something serious was coming. Snape immediately set his quill aside and gave him his full attention.

"Something on your mind?"

"Yes, actually. I wanted some advice. Advice of a personal nature."

Snape drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment, before letting it out slowly, feeling any last hope go with it.

"Of course. What would you like to talk about?"

"I don't know if you are aware of it, but I have developed rather strong feelings for a certain young lady."

"I'm well aware of your feelings, Simon. I would have needed to be blind to miss them."

Simon winced. "Have I been that obvious? I had hoped I might have shown a little discretion, although it's not as if I have any experience in these things."

"Indeed, you have very little experience in these things."

"Nonetheless, I feel what I feel and I cannot hide it any longer. I've been led to believe my suit would be accepted if offered. I just wanted to have your opinion of the matter… and your approval."

Snape stood up and walked over and poured them both a glass of wine. He handed one to Simon, seeing for a moment Black Jake's small boy who had thought to try and pick his pocket. Now he was a man grown and ready to start his own life. Snape felt curiously abandoned, even knowing the boy would stay here… and so would his chosen bride.

"Do you love her?" A stupid question. The amount of love floating across the young man's eyes made him want to gag.

"With all my heart."

"And she loves you?"

"Yes. She's told me so without mincing words."

"Mincing words is not her style. Are you committed to doing well by her?"

"Absolutely."

"Will you allow her to make her own choices? Pursue her own interests?"

Simon faltered. "Of course, if she has any that she would like to pursue, I will support them in every way I can!"

"What if she desires to leave Wrenham Park? You have ten thousand as of now, with more to come from our investments, you can afford to live wherever she desires, but that might interfere with your own plans."

"Oh, no! We've discussed it, and she is perfectly happy to spend her life here."

Snape furrowed his brow but then sighed. Perhaps she had grown more attached to the place than he'd thought.

"Then you have my blessing," he said, feeling as if he had just ordered his own execution. "Just make sure she knows you love her. Never let her feel insecure on that point."

Simon surged up out if the chair and threw his arms around Snape, hugging him tight. Snape slowly wrapped his own arms around him and hugged him back as tightly as he could.

He thumped him on the back and pushed him away, pulling out his handkerchief when he saw Simon's tears. "Pull yourself together, man. Here," he handed him back his wine glass, "a toast. Health and happiness, always."

"Thank you, Severus. Thank you."

They drank. Snape drained his glass. "When will you ask her?"

"After the ball tomorrow night."

"Why wait that long? Why not now?"

"I want the timing to be just right."

"Do you think she will say no if you ask her at the wrong moment?"

"No, of course not, but these things matter to women."

"I shouldn't think Miss Granger would care about such trifles as timing."

Simon laughed. "No, I dare say one could ask her over tea, or while putting away books together, and she would be just as responsive as during a moonlit stroll. But then, Hermione is a rather singular creature, isn't she?"

"As you say."

Simon drained his glass and set it on the table. "Thank you, Severus."

"You already said that, and besides, all I've done is say I'm happy for you."

"Yes, but I don't know if you are aware of just how much that means to me. You are the best of men."

"So I've heard."

"You are the best father I have ever had."

"I knew your other one; it wasn't much of a fence to jump to exceed him."

"Stop playing the gabey. You know what I am trying to say. I love you."

Snape closed his eyes before pulling him into another hug. "And I love you, Simon. Now go. Be out of here with your happily ever after. I have to pay the butcher, the baker and the bloody candlestick maker so that you can have a ball to wish would hurry up and be over."

* * *

Snape made his way through the throngs of people cluttering the foyer on their way out to go for a ride. The noise and bustle exacerbated his already throbbing head. He had drunk far too much last night in his pathetic fit of self pity.

The Dowager had managed to impress upon him the importance of making connections within the community for Nigel's sake, and so he'd spent a certain amount of time each day reluctantly meeting the neighbors and pretending he gave a damn about the next hunt.

"Mr. Snape! There you are!"

He turned his head to see Lady Wrenham flapping her fan at him. He walked over to the group of older people gathered around her, parents and relatives of the grooms, he assumed. He gave them his best polite smile, given the conditions.

"Here is our Mr. Snape. My late daughter's husband. He has been a great support to us since the death of my dear, departed husband. Severus, allow me to introduce you to…"

Snape lost track of who was who, just nodding and shaking hands with the gentlemen. He was too bemused by the Dowager's introduction to catch the names of all the inbred nobs he was meeting, and the fact that she held his elbow as if he wasn't someone she would have gladly thrown down a well a few weeks ago.

He only tuned back in when he realized he'd just agreed to be at the bloody ball later on that evening. How the hell had things come to such a state? Where had his mind gone? It was that damned Granger's fault. Everything was her bloody fault.

This wretched pain, that felt like his soul was leaking out, was most certainly her fault.

He smiled again, causing the two mothers of the grooms to blanch and step back, before he excused himself and fled outside to catch some air. It occurred to him that if he spooked all the horses, his guests might fortuitously break all their necks and he could get some peace.

* * *

Snape was heading toward the refuge of his office when he heard voices in the drawing room. He looked in, to see Miss Granger, Nigel and Grace looking out the windows and commenting on all the folk strolling the gardens behind the house. He walked up behind them and peered down at the people below. Merlin, they were everywhere. There had to be over forty people in and around the house, with still more expected later. The result made him think the house resembled a maggoty cheese.

"Miss Granger, what are you doing here? I was under the impression you were mingling with the guests."

"Why would I be doing that?" she asked, confused.

"I thought Lady Wrenham had asked you to attend the festivities. Something about odd numbers."

"Oh, the ball. Yes, I was asked, but I begged off. They will just have to deal with their shortage of young women without me. I would feel like a fool down there."

"I sympathize, but I think you must go. Simon is already changing."

"Simon is extremely excited to join the festivities. As for me, it's too late, sir. I haven't a thing to wear."

"Didn't you buy yourself any gowns when you went shopping with your aunt?"

"Not a one." She smiled triumphantly.

Snape stared at her. "What about that gown you wore last year?"

She laughed. "I thought, from your rather elegant taste in Muggle clothes, that you understood Muggle fashion, but I see now that you limited your knowledge to men's haberdashery. I assure you, that dress is highly unsuitable for a Muggle ball."

"It was a bit revealing, I suppose," he said.

"Oh, no. The neckline was actually nearly demure. Wait until you see what they wear tonight. No, the problem was the color. Only a married woman would have worn such bold choices. An unmarried lady is restricted to a far smaller palette of colors."

"If the issue is only the color of the dress, I can be of assistance."

"Oh, think nothing of it, sir. I assure you, I am not pining away for a ball."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go fetch the bloody dress, Granger."

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind but headed out of the drawing room anyway.

"Grace, go with her and tell her to bring anything she'll need to wear with it."

Grace giggled and went galloping off after her.

"Why is it so important for Miss Granger to go to the dance, Papa?"

"Because, Nigel, I understand this is going to be a very important night for her, and she will want to look her best."

"Really? What's going to happen?"

"I'll let her tell you tomorrow. For now, we must act as if we didn't know."

Miss Granger came back in carrying her confection of gold and garnet. His heart constricted, remembering the woman who had made her way through the crowd to smile at him so brightly when he'd been so deeply in need of a friendly face.

He gestured at her to lay it on the settee as Grace came running in with a pair of deep red shoes and a fistful of gold and garnet ribbons and flowers. "She left these behind, Papa!"

"Place them on the table, Grace. Now, Miss Granger, what are considered acceptable colors?"

"You really are going to make me go, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

"Are you going to take house points if I refuse?"

"I'll dock your pay."

She narrowed her eyes at him and planted her hands on her hips. "This was not in my contract."

"I think if you were to look at your contract now, you would find it is."

"You're insufferable."

"Interesting choice of words."

She huffed and then turned to Grace. "Alright, here are the rules. If I were to be looking for a husband, the colors would be restricted to white, off-white, beige, blush, ivory or cream. Since I am not looking for a husband, then the choices must signify that. Therefore, I am allowed a very pale pink, light blue, mint, pale yellow, or peach."

Snape turned to the gown on the settee and pulled out his wand. He changed the gold to pale lilac, and the garnet to a slightly deeper violet. With a quick swish, the shoes and ribbons were changed as well.

"Ooo, Papa, that's beautiful! Can you change my dress too?"

Snape smirked and changed the blue sash on his daughter's white dress to a deep royal purple. He looked up to see Hermione looking at her altered dress with an odd expression on her face.

"Not good?" he asked. "Simon mentioned the other day that you were fond of purple."

He tilted his head in confusion when she burst into a giggle. That wasn't the reaction he had thought to expect. Surely even Miss Granger would be excited about dressing for her beau?

"At least she kept her mouth closed until she returned."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Never mind. Thank you, sir. They are beautiful, and very appropriate." She scooped up the ribbons. "However, I don't think these will be of use, I've never been able to do a thing with my hair but this. Perhaps I can stab a few of the flowers in here and there for good effect."

"I'm afraid I know nothing about hair charms," he said.

She pulled a face and said, "I think that point is somewhat obvious, sir." She smirked at him and turned to his daughter. "What do you say, Grace, would you like to help me dress for a ball?"

"Yes!"

The two of them headed for the door.

"Very good, Miss Granger. I shall look forward to seeing you later."

"You're _going?_" she asked with a squeak. "You said you weren't!"

"Yes, but somehow I have been roped in by Lady Wrenham. It appears I am now her favorite son-in-law. I'm afraid I have no choice either."

Hermione looked down at the gown in her hands and then back at him with her eyes wide and her expression alarming.

"Yes, sir. I-I will see you later then, sir."

Snape watched her scurry out of the room with his daughter trailing after her, beginning to feel like he was missing some important part of a puzzle.

"Come, Nigel. Let us get ready."

"Can I wear purple?"

"No."

* * *

Misunderstandings can only last so much longer…

I shall dedicate this entire day to polishing the last bits, and get the rest of this sucker off to my beta team. I promise.


	36. Obtuse

**AN:** I am soooo sorry for making y'all wait like that. Thank you to everyone that was concerned, and apologies to everyone that suffered a fit of the vapors. My internet crashed and I will spare you the details, but man, it's been a heck of a few days. I'm up and running, but have a new comp on the way, so things will be interesting around here for a minute. It's looking like 'ChapSpam' is going to devolve into a slightly less chaotic 'posting as fast as Aurettely possible'.

I shall compensate for my failings by posting one of the chapters you have been screaming for...

* * *

Grace was galloping around the bedroom in circles, excited about seeing all the pretty dresses on all the pretty ladies.

Lady Wrenham had agreed to allow the children to come down for a short while before dinner, having decided that Hermione had a point about children learning by watching. Nigel had made great strides in his understanding of his role in life after being exposed to the many guests in the other part of the house, and seeing the various levels of behavior in practice over the last three days.

The lessons were utterly lost on Grace.

Hermione sat at her dressing table looking at the reflection of her beautiful gown spread out on the bed behind her. Her mind was blank but for one thought. Mr. Snape was going to be at the ball. She had assumed he wouldn't be and had actually looked forward to a quiet evening of study and perhaps a shared meal together in the drawing room. She could have handled that. It was routine and banal enough that she wouldn't have made a fool of herself.

But ever since that moment when he'd opened his eyes and called her beautiful, she'd been having more and more difficulty keeping her face serene and keeping her eyes from following his every movement, his every gesture. His hands. She would watch, in rapt fascination, as his finger tapped rhythmically on the back cover of a book he was reading, or how he would reach out and brush his hand across any of his children that came near.

The idea of being at a ball with him was too much. There might be over fifty people there, once the neighboring families arrived, but for her, there would only be one man, and she just knew she would make a fool of herself. She stared herself down in the mirror of her dressing table and took a deep breath. _You are just his governess, Hermione Granger. Remember that. He's a wizard. If he wanted you, he would tell you._

Hermione wanted to be a witch desperately. She wanted to just reach out and take what she desired. Make the first move. It was obvious on some level that he wanted her. If she were a witch, she would have been bold enough.

But she wasn't a witch.

There was a knock at the door and Grace pranced over and opened it, before Hermione could stop her. The Dowager's lady's maid came in, carrying a bag.

"Pardon me, Miss Granger, but I was asked by Mr. Snape to come and help you get ready. Would you like to start with your hair?"

Hermione blinked and turned to look at her dress. This was going to be one of the most difficult nights of her life.

* * *

There was a knock on his door, and Snape turned away from the mirror, where he had been tying his cravat and called, "Enter."

Simon came in, in his black cutaway coat, over an ivory waistcoat, with a snowy white cravat. The black breeches, white stockings, and low-heeled shoes completed the look. But for their cravats, they looked just the same.

"Are you ready?" the younger man said. "Violet is holding the children back with cake in the classroom, but she doesn't know how much longer she can keep them contained."

"Nearly," he replied looking back to the mirror.

Simon came over and smacked his hands away, assuming control of his cravat. "You always make these ludicrously elaborate," he said, adding another layer of folds and fluffing it out until it was even.

"You know why," Snape replied with a snarl.

"I know exactly why. I was there when it was still open, remember? I think you should be proud of it. It shows what you've survived."

"Don't be ridiculous. No one cares what we've survived in life, only what we bring to the table today. Gruesome disfigurements are never welcome."

"It's just a scar."

"One of many, Simon."

"A scar is what is left behind when you've _healed_, Severus. When are you going to heal?"

"When life gives me a chance."

"What more of a chance do you need? Things are good now. These last months with Miss Granger, especially, have been peaceful and pleasant, and yet you've just become more withdrawn and bitter. I wish you would confide in me. I wish I could ease your mind."

Snape reached up and grabbed at Simon's hand. "Leave off. It's fine now. Why don't you go escort Miss Granger downstairs. I will get the children."

Simon gave him a long, searching look, but Snape just turned away and grabbed his coat, slipping his arms into the sleeves and fussing with his lapels until the younger man had left. When the door had closed behind him, Snape sat down and dropped his head into his hands.

* * *

Hermione opened the door and blushed, as Simon's eyes nearly bulged out.

"Hermione! You look… radiant!"

She smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle. "Thank you."

He looked at her elaborately curled hair, and reached up and touched one of the violet silk roses. "You look like a different version of you. Does that make any sense?"

"I could say the same of you," she said with a smile. "You look quite the handsome charmer."

He smiled, pleased. "Thank you. And thank you for the dancing lessons as well. I'm almost sure I won't make a complete buffoon of myself. You will dance the first set with me, won't you?"

"Of course, a lady must dance the first dance with whosoever asks first."

They headed down the hall, seeing Mr. Snape herding Nigel and Grace down the stairs ahead of them.

"He looks rather splendid as well," she said.

"He always does. I learned everything I know about sartorial splendor from him. He's my personal Beau Brummel. I just wish he wouldn't go overboard with his knots though."

"He does tend toward excess with his cravats. I don't remember his doing that when I was younger."

Simon stopped and turned to her with a serious expression on his face. "He didn't have the scar when you were younger."

"What do you mean?"

"His neck was savaged in the final battle with the Death Eaters. He ties his knots to hide a vicious scar. He never told me what caused it."

"A monster. The Dark Lord set a monstrous serpent on him, and from what I read, it nearly tore his throat out."

"That it did. I was the one that found him bleeding on the rug in his bedroom directly afterwards. I nearly fainted from the site, and I'm not one to be easily put off by bloodshed. It was already healing though. That was my first, true understanding of this magic business, watching his skin knit back together before my eyes."

Simon shuddered, and Hermione squeezed his arm.

"I've no use for it, you know," he said with sudden emphasis. "I don't think being a wizard ever did him the slightest bit of good."

"Well, as you say, it saved his life."

"No Muggle monster tore away half of his neck, Hermione."

"If he hadn't been a wizard, would he have survived the streets of Manchester?"

Simon was quiet as they gained the top of the stairs. He turned to her and said, "Yes. But he would have been a different man entirely, and probably one neither of us would like very much at all."

"And there you have it. Perhaps it is all just fate."

They turned and looked down at the crowd still entering the ballroom. It was an absolute crush. The foyer was packed with people and music poured out across them like a wave.

"There she is," he murmured, drawing her attention to Clara, beaming up at the two of them. "Isn't she beautiful?" He whispered in her ear. "I'm going to ask her to marry me tonight after the ball. Severus gave me his blessing."

"Oh, Simon! Congratulations! Now I understand why Mr. Snape wanted me to join the party so strongly! I had no idea it was to be such a special night for the family!"

She squeezed his arm again as they headed down the stairs, so he could get closer to his beloved. She was still beaming when her eyes settled on Mr. Snape, looking up at her with a gaze so intense it felt like fire. Her smile faltered as her lips parted from the force of his regard.

She stumbled a step and saw him lurch forward, as if he could have reached her in time, but Simon tightened his hold and caught her. She turned to thank her escort, and when she turned back. Mr. Snape was gone.

"Did I not say you looked enchanting? I do believe even Severus noticed. Did you see that look he just gave me? If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was the blackest envy. Come, take me closer to my lovely Clara. It you don't lead I will break into a run, and I've be told I've been too obvious."

* * *

Severus patrolled the perimeter of the room rarely taking his eyes off of her. She was beautiful. More captivating than Lily, yet just as addictive. More vibrant than Elspeth, yet just as warm and comforting. He was in misery. He was incapable of making small talk with anyone and had gladly refrained from dancing, thankful of the small mercy that there were not enough ladies present.

He'd taken it upon himself to put his children to bed, leaving Violet to keep guard against their sneaking back down. Now there was nothing for it but this agonizing deathwatch as the minutes ticked by until the woman he cared so deeply about betrothed herself to his son.

He'd had to listen as people who didn't even know them talked about what a handsome couple they made, how beautiful she was. He'd watched her dancing with several young gentlemen, wanting to hex the oafs every time one of them trod on her toes. He'd wanted to cut in, to whisk her away and whirl her about the room himself. Recreate that moment when he'd some so close to brushing his lips against her own.

Now she was sitting next to Simon, laughing and murmuring in his ear, as they watched something amusing across the room. Testing every ounce of Severus's self control.

If this went on, he would start to hate them both.

He couldn't do this. He wanted to be a better man, but he simply wasn't. There was no way he could stand by and watch the young lovers any longer. He needed to leave. Run away. Perhaps even leave the country for a while. He would take Nigel and Grace with him and let the newly married couple settle without his darkening presence.

A footman came by with a tray and he snatched a glass of champagne from it, replacing it with his empty glass.

* * *

"It is more than obvious that you do not know the language behind a lady's fan," Hermione said with a laugh.

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

"Clara has been sending you messages from across the room, and you are sitting there staring at her like a love-sick calf."

"What, you mean all that fluttering and weaving she's been doing?"

"Of course, silly. She's been telling you that it is safe to ask her to dance now."

"She has?"

"Oh, Simon. You are beyond adorable. Yes, she has, now go. You've been waiting for this moment all night. Remember, don't look at your feet."

Simon shot her a near-panicked look, and she laughed and pushed him off the settee. She was still watching him weave his way through the crush when a shadow fell across her. She looked up to see the one person she'd been avoiding all night.

"Miss Granger, may I have this dance?"

Her hand lifted up and settled in his warm, slightly rough palm, almost without her consent. His hand closed around hers, and he tugged gently. She came to her feet and looked up into his incredible, black eyes and sighed. She was hopeless. She had reached the point of no return somewhere in the past without her knowledge.

He led her out onto the dance floor as the strains of Bach floated across the room and they stepped into slow Allamande.

As she turned and whirled and ducked under his arm, she silently repeated, '_just a governess, just a governess,'_ to herself. When she finally had the courage to look up, she saw he wasn't even looking at her.

She calmed down and enjoyed the dance. Halfway through, she even worked up the nerve to speak.

"I understand now why you wanted me to be here. Why it was so important. That was very thoughtful of you, sir."

His head turned to her sharply, and she gave him a timid smile.

"Do you? So he has already made his offer?"

"No. I believe he intends to wait until after the ball, so as not to detract from Kate and Mary's evening."

Snape stared at her, his brow creased with confusion and something else.

"You don't seem as excited as I would have thought. I somehow got the impression that young women went all aflutter over such things."

"Well, at twenty, I am hardly young anymore, am I?"

He smirked. "You seem remarkably young from my vantage point, Miss Granger."

She frowned at that. "I guess that's true. No doubt I will always be just a silly little girl to you. I have little hope of aging in your eyes, do I?" She winced, realizing her voice sounded more despondent that she would have preferred.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger. It grieves me to say that you have grown up rather quickly in my eyes."

She looked up again to find he was looking at her with such gentle longing that she stopped breathing. She tilted her head to the side and returned a hesitant smile, having no idea what to do to fan that tiny flame of desire she saw buried so deep. She squeezed his hand, gently, and on the next spin, she felt his fingers graze her waist in a way that seemed to make her insides turn to liquid. When she finished her spin, she looked at him again and swallowed, her mouth having suddenly gone dry. His look seemed to scorch her as the air around them thickened. Disguised as part of the dance, their hands seemed to linger and slink against each other like illicit lovers, hiding in plain sight.

They finished another turn and faced each other again, just as the music ended. She swayed closer to him, as his eyes filled with a terrible pain. She reached up her hand, and whispered, "Tell me," but he spun away from her without a word. She watched him as he made his way off the floor, past the tables, and out the door of the room.

She was left standing alone in the middle of the room as the second dance of the set started, feeling utterly confused and bereft.

* * *

Severus sat in his darkened office behind the bulwark of his desk and slowly got drunk to the sounds of celebration. The clock on the mantle ticked, endlessly marking the minutes until his newest doom settled on him.

He was thoroughly confused and sick with self-loathing.

He constantly replayed every moment of that dance. The look in her honey-gold eyes that spoke of desire and sexual awakening, too long denied. He could still feel the slight trembling of her hands, or had it been his? He could close his eyes and call up the way her pulse had jumped and raced right in that one place on her milky-white throat. She hadn't been thinking of Simon. She'd wanted _him_. He'd felt triumphant, primal. He'd come close to crossing a line and marking her as his, and damning his own son to hell with a laugh.

And then the dance had ended, and he'd realized what kind of bastard he was.

Of course Simon hadn't been on her mind, he hadn't let her think of anything else. From the moment he'd followed through on his insane idea of one, last dance with the enticing Miss Granger, he'd done his level best to overwhelm the girl. No, not intentionally, but it was easy to see in hindsight. She was innocence personified. She was all soft voice and repressed desire, so much dry tinder waiting for a match to set her ablaze, and he couldn't resist her purity.

It felt as if he'd been born tainted. That the filth and degradation he'd been born into would always suppurate from his pores. Lily had been his first glimpse of something sweet and innocent, something above and beyond what he'd known. Elspeth had been innocence despoiled. He'd felt almost a compulsive need to put that broken angel back on the pedestal from which she'd fallen. Miss Granger? This was something different, entirely. He wanted her. He wanted her with such a powerful need it was as if he believed that by touching her, he, himself might finally become clean.

Which was patently untrue. To have her, he would have to break his son's heart. There was no way he could live with himself if he did that.

A rising crescendo of voices and an absence of music announced the end of the ball. He glanced at the clock in the moonlight from the window and saw it was half past two.

So.

The time was upon him. He would let his pure, sweet, Miss Granger go, and she would settle like a downy feather into the arms of his brave, steady boy, and together they would find a happiness Severus Snape would willingly commit murder for in vain.

A growing brightness out in the hallway announced the presence of someone coming his way with a candle.

He was watching the doorway through the V made by his feet up on the desk and froze, with his glass of Firewhisky to his lips, when he saw Miss Granger walk past. He listened to the sound of the drawing room door creaking open and swore violently under his breath.

Somehow he'd assumed that Simon would have spirited his lady love away somewhere more private to ask the inevitable. It hadn't occurred to him that he would be trapped witnessing the event.

He carefully placed his drink down and pulled his legs off the desk, wondering if he should stay hidden where he was, or try and make a break for it back down the hall to the safety of the guests still saying goodnight in the foyer below. Perhaps he should Apparate to Spinner's End and spend the night there. No. He was too drunk not to leave his bits behind. As useless as they were these days, he was rather attached to them

The minutes ticked past and Simon had yet to show. Unless he was already there?

Maybe he should just head down the hall and find his own bed. If he made enough noise, the young lovers might just shut up long enough for him to make it past the doorway.

He stood up, bolted the last of his drink and headed out of his office, making more noise than he'd intended due to his more than slight inebriation.

He was just passing the open doorway to the drawing room, when Miss Granger called out to him.

"Mr. Snape! Come quickly!"

"No."

"No?" she repeated in a surprised voice, "but you must come and see this; it's lovely!"

"I don't want to. I want to go to bed."

"Oh, just come here, you fool man," she snapped, exasperated.

He scowled and entered the drawing room, walking over to where she was silhouetted against the moonlight flooding the window. Her lone candle had been left by the door.

When he drew near, he could smell the rose water she'd bathed in, and the delicious aroma of ratafia on her breath.

"And just what are we looking at, Miss Granger. I am in a bit of a hurry and have no time to dawdle."

She beamed at him, with that impossible amount of happiness she kept tucked down inside, and pointed down into the garden below. "It's Simon! Look!"

"_Simon?_ What the devil is he doing down there? Who the hell is that with him?"

"Miss Clara," she said in a strange voice, as if he were the one confusing her.

He looked again and saw Simon getting down on bended knee. Shocked, he leaned so far forward he bashed his forehead against the window pane.

"Shhhh!" Miss Granger hissed, dragging him down below the windowsill with surprising strength. "What are you doing? Are you _drunk?_"

"What am _I _doing?" he snapped, jumping back up and staring in shock down into the garden. "What the bloody hell is _he _doing?"

"I should think that was obvious, sir. He's asking Miss Clara to marry him."

Severus watched Miss Clara Beaton throw herself into Simon's arms and felt his world shift off its axis.

* * *

_*YAYS!*_

Okay, informal survey time!

Pick one you think **most likely**:

a. Severus laughs and laughs and laughs and then explains the joke to Hermione.

b. Severus gets really, really mad and then makes a hash of everything.

c. Severus blushes furiously, admits his misunderstanding, and tenderly asks the lovely Miss Granger if he can court her.


	37. Enlightenment

**AN:** The results for our survey, ('pick one, a, b, or c') are: a - 11, b - 108, c - 21, d - 11, e - 2, f - 1, and 'none-of-the-above' - 4. Combinations of all of them had to be discarded, and yes, worrywart, I got your vote correction. lol. "Best of" goes to VerySmallProphet for her wonderful entry in the non-existent 'e' category.

You guys are awesome.

* * *

Hermione was in quite a state. She was deeply confused, and deeply regretful for the several glasses of ratafia she'd imbibed to numb the humiliation of being left in the middle of the dance floor by this very gentleman.

The very man who was now looking down on the garden as if he was about to leap through the window and kill someone.

The fact that this same gentleman was, to her mind, also more than a bit foxed, added to the tension of the moment.

He turned to her, pulled out his wand, and lit every candle in the room at once, revealing the depth of his rage to the light. The sheer amount of anger in his face made her straighten up and step back. This wasn't her Professor, fuming at some stunt pulled by a foolish student in the hallways. She was looking up at someone she didn't know at all, and he was _furious_.

Her heart started to pound, and she backed up another step.

"You will explain this to me at once," he said in a deadly voice.

"What is there to explain? I thought you approved the match. Simon said you gave him your blessing!"

"My _blessing?_ Oh, I gave him my _blessing._ I fucking choked on it, but I gave it, by God! But that was when I thought he was marrying _you!_"

"_Me?_" She stared at him as if he'd suddenly grown another head. "Why on earth would you think Simon wanted to marry me?"

"_Why?_ I've spent the last few months watching the two of you fawning over each other, Miss Granger. Swallowing down my bile as you strolled through the grounds, riding off together every morning, laughing together through dancing lessons… The two of you were practically shouting your feelings to the world. And now, when I had surrendered to the idea that a match between you was inescapable, I find my son plighting his troth to some other woman entirely!"

She couldn't speak. He had gone very still and was staring at her with his head cocked to the side and a malignant sneer on his face.

"Has this all been a game to you?" he hissed. "Did you think to try and toy with me, Miss Granger?"

He began stalking her. There was no other term for the way he slowly flowed across the carpet toward her as she backed further away.

"I don't understand! I don't know why you are angry!"

"_Do you not_?" he shouted.

"Please, sir, I beg you to lower your voice, the children—"

He lifted his wand, and she flung her hands over her head, twisting away from him, but all he did was spell the door shut with a bang and cast a charm that silenced the room. The muffled sounds from the guests downstairs ceased instantly, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing.

"I would never hurt you, Miss Granger," he said in a tight voice. "I just want an explanation of what's happened here. Have you played last minute match-maker with another discarded beau, like poor Fredrick? Is Simon just another, like your parson's son, who was unworthy of more than fifteen minutes of your time?

"Or is it all just a lark to you? Do you enjoy toying with a gentleman's affections?"

She realized he was intentionally trying to intimidate her as if she were one of his students. She was _supposed_ to cower in fear. Hermione's fear evaporated in that instant, replaced by a sudden bright and blinding fury.

"_Have you gone mad?_ Or are you truly that blind? How dare you? How _dare_ you, sir!" She jabbed her finger toward the window. "He's been in love with Clara for nearly a year now! I knew it the first week I was here! How could you not see it? I know he tried to hide his attraction from you because he thought you hated them all, but he is not that good at dissembling. Surely you must have seen _something!_" She flung her hands wide; stunned anew that he could have been so obtuse.

"And _Fredrick?_ You dare throw Mr. Janssen in my face? Yes, I could have been married to him by now. I could have been in London somewhere struggling to find meaning in my ability to plan a meal and hold dinner parties to impress his superiors, hoping to help his career, but can you really see me being content in that life?" She dropped her hands down to her sides in utter defeat. "Do you even see me _at all_?"

"No," he hissed, stepping close and looming over her. "I cannot see anything!" He jabbed his hand back at the window behind them. "I admit I have been blind, Miss Granger. But I cannot have been the only one. How can you not see how your behavior would have been interpreted? Even the bloody head groom in the stable was expecting a marriage announcement between the two of you!"

She lifted her chin, struggling to not cry at this bizarre turn of events and the shattering dream. What had she been seeing on the dance floor? She had been convinced he cared for her. Now he was acting as if she disgusted him. She was so upset she couldn't breathe right. "If the idea of a match between Simon and myself is so odious to you, why are you so angry at me to find out your assumptions were false? Why dance with me then? Why—" Her voice broke and she scrubbed at her eyes, as she lost her fight with her tears. She looked up at him, and in a soft voice asked, "Do you hate me so much?"

He flinched, and his eyes flew wide. His anger seemed to dissolve in an instant. His voice sounded hoarse, as he said, "No, Miss Granger. I most certainly do _not_ hate you."

She sighed and closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly to try and clear her jangled thoughts and push aside the powerful surge of hope that was trying to cloud the issue even further.

"Then what is the issue? Why are you so upset?" She reached out and touched his arm. "Tell me what is going on inside your thoughts. I cannot read your mind either. If you don't explain, I will never know."

He didn't answer. He just stared into her eyes with frightening intensity. He cursed and spun away, pacing in a little circle while scrubbing his hands through his hair.

She watched his frustration with an equal measure of her own. "Tell me," she said. "For the love of God, just tell me what you are thinking right now."

He spun back to her and opened and closed his mouth several times before he let loose with a low growl and grabbed her by the arms. She didn't have time for more than a small yelp before his lips came crashing down on hers.

Her reaction was instantaneous and beyond her conscious control. She reached up and grabbed his neck and pressed her lips against his. He made a sound like a small wounded animal, as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her tight against his chest.

As his lips slid across hers, she felt as if she was sliding out of her body. The only thought in her head was, '_Finally_.'

He broke the kiss and stared down at her, his fingers digging into her back. He looked terrified.

"I shouldn't have done that," he whispered.

"Yes, you should have. I have dreamed of doing that very thing."

His eyes closed with obvious relief. When they opened again, the expression in them made her knees weak.

"I couldn't tell. I wasn't ever sure. I have wanted to kiss you for a very long time, Miss Granger."

She beamed at him, feeling dizzy from this final admission.

She closed her eyes and sighed. There had been so much confusion. There were still so many questions. It occurred to her that there was still room for misinterpretation. She decided to finally declare her feelings, in order to dispel any lingering doubts he might have.

"Do you really want to know what poor, noble Fredrick's biggest failing was? He wasn't _you_." She lifted her chin and looked straight into his beautiful eyes. "I love you," she whispered. "I've _been_ in love with you. Forever, it seems."

With her hands still resting on the back of his neck, she felt the shudder that ran through his body.

He kissed her again.

His hands cupped her face as if she were made of delicate china, and his lips lightly brushed hers, as if belatedly seeking permission. She could smell the spirits on his breath, and it added to the peculiarity of the moment.

He pulled back just the slightest bit, searching her eyes again, and she felt that same dizzying falling sensation she'd come to crave.

She let herself fall.

Her eyes slid closed of their own accord, and she leaned closer until his lips touched hers once more. The explosion of breath through his nose tickled her ear, as she pressed her lips against his, mimicking his movements until instinct took over.

His fingers gently stroked her face, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. A quiet mewling noise rumbled in his throat.

A soft moan escaped her as she abandoned thinking, as the reality that she was finally here, in her professor's arms, overwhelmed any other thought. For an irrational moment, she panicked that it wasn't him, and she pulled back and stared at him. His eyes were on fire, as he looked at her with the purest desire she had ever seen. She slid her hands up into his hair and kissed him again, feeling his fingers tighten on her back.

A line had been crossed; silent understanding replaced confusion. His kisses became more urgent, as he blazed a path across her cheek to her temple and back again. The sound of his ragged breathing, the hoarse little growls that escaped him, turned her belly to fire and weakened her knees. She clung to him and her own, throaty groan escaped and shocked her with its primal nature.

He pulled back and stared at her again, panting heavily. He brought a hand to her face and stroked it down her cheek slowly. "So beautiful," he murmured.

His thumb brushed her lip, and she kissed it. He tugged at her lip, and she looked at him with uncertainty as she opened her mouth slightly. She watched his own lips part, his mouth dropping open just slightly, and feeling emboldened, she closed her lips around the tip of his nail. She felt a thrill course the length of her body as his breath hissed out in a rush, and then he was kissing her again, violently, passionately. She made a noise she didn't know she was capable of when she felt his tongue sweep into her mouth and steal her breath. Again, she mimicked his actions, until delight took over and dictated her response. She went utterly boneless from the pleasure.

She explored his mouth with her lips and tongue, while her fingers roamed through his hair, caressed his ears, his cheeks and the slight stubble along his jaw. She reveled in the sound of his growling purr.

He pulled away with a final, claiming kiss and stared at her with blazing eyes. His hair was wild from her hands, and his chest heaved as if he had been running.

She felt her own desire turn into a fire deep in her belly from the look he gave her.

_Him_.

Severus Snape.

He _wanted_ her. There was no more room left for doubts.

"It's late," he whispered. "You should find your bed. We will speak more in the morning when we are both less… intoxicated."

She frowned and stroked his slightly swollen lip with her fingertip.

"This is where you become a gentleman and warn me from my folly?"

His face flushed, and his eyes took on a slightly drugged look. "Do not count on my ability to remain a gentleman, Miss Granger. You will feel that support crumble away beneath you if you lean on it. My resolve has been tested to the breaking point."

She stroked his mouth again before pressing a small kiss against it. "Would you send me away if I were a witch? Because after all of this time wishing, now that you are here I would very much like to stay."

He clasped the back of her neck in one hand and pulled her in for another passionate kiss before pulling away again and turning her towards the mirror above the fireplace. He stepped behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

She stared at the two people in the mirror, shocked at the untamed expressions on both of their faces.

"You do not actually understand what it is you want," he said in a deep, rough voice that pierced her to the core. "You are innocent. I never was." His hand brushed against her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. His lips came down on her exposed neck, and she cried out as he lightly bit her and then kissed away the sting.

"I crave your innocence, Hermione. It draws me like a drug." He traced his lips along her neck and up to the shell of her ear and whispered, "If you stay, I will take it."

She felt a moment of panic at his words. His hands loosened, but did not let go. He was giving her the choice. She swallowed down her fear and leaned her head back against his shoulder.

"I do not wish to leave," she whispered back. She felt a jolt run through her entire body at her own audacity.

He pulled out his wand and whispered, "_Finite_." Her dress changed back to garnet and gold that flashed and sparkled in the candlelight. He dropped his wand to the floor as his hands came up and pulled at the combs and pins in her hair.

"Say my name again," she whispered, as he pulled at her hair, causing it to cascade down past her shoulders. Silk ribbons and roses tumbled down her body to the carpeted floor.

He leaned his head until his mouth was just barely touching her ear. "Hermione…"

She shuddered, and her eyes slid closed.

"Are you afraid?"

"A little," she whispered.

"You are so very foolish," he murmured. "You trust me too much. You always have. You should have been afraid when you saw me in the park those months ago. You should be terrified now."

He carded his fingers through her hair, and they both watched as it shrugged off its former restriction and rose up around her face, expanding and flowing down past her bosom. She looked at the naked desire on his face and felt _powerful_.

"Why should I fear you?"

"Because I didn't need a damned governess," he said, as he stared at the hair sliding through his hand. "I stole every scrap of information Nigel would ever need within a few hours of arriving here. Servants know _everything_, Miss Granger."

The lock of hair slid out of his hand, and he looked at her in the mirror.

"I just wanted you near me. I've not been able to get you out of my mind since that blasted night at the Ministry."

He stroked his hand across her bosom, dragging more of her hair into his hand and twisting a curl around his fingers.

"And yet you were willing to let me marry another. Why?" she asked.

He flinched and looked at her in the mirror, before wrapping both arms around her and resting his cheek on her hair. In that moment, his drunkenness became more apparent. So did his palpable loneliness. "Simon would have made you happier. The parson's son, as well."

"Why? How can you still say such a thing, when you know you are the one I want?"

"Because they are pure, like you. I will soil you. I will defile you. I will drag you down into the mud with me and destroy you."

"You cannot do any of those things to me."

"But I can, Hermione. I hurt the women I care for. If you had any sense, you would run far away and not look back."

She twisted around in his arms and whispered, "No," before she kissed him.

His arms tightened around her, and he replied with gentle beseeching kisses that slowly escalated, until it seemed as if they were frantically trying to merge into one being.

"Hermione," he whispered between kisses. "I have wanted you for so long."

"Ohhhh," she sighed, as he suckled on her neck. "I have so longed to be wanted."

He pulled away and looked at her in confusion. "How can you say such a thing? Do you not understand how desirable you are? At that ball last year, it was as if you were the only woman in the room. Tonight as well. Nearly every man there wanted you."

His eyes burned into hers. "And now I have you."

He kissed her again, and any other thoughts she had flittered away like startled birds.

One of his hands slid up into her hair, fanning out across the back of her head and massaging her scalp as the other made its way slowly down her back until he cupped her bottom and pressed her against him. She moaned, as the pleasure chased away her momentary panic when she felt his hard length through his breeches.

She let instinct take over and pushed herself against him, driven by her increasing need. The cooler air on her arms made her realize that he was sliding her pelisse off. She stopped and shrugged out of it before bringing her hands to his chest and slipping them under the lapels of his coat. He let out a heavy sigh as her hands roamed across the planes of his silk-covered chest. She moved them up to the sleeves and began pushing his coat from his shoulders. There was no way she would allow herself to play the shy maid. Not after everything she'd been through. She'd always wished to be bold and hell's bells, now that the moment was here, she would be bold in spades.

The tension increased as he tugged at the buttons on her back with one hand and struggled out of his coat with the other. He finally snarled and broke off his kisses to tear off his coat and fling it behind her. She heard it land on the table and slide to the floor beyond.

He lifted her up and carried her down to the settee, and she wrapped her arms around him and welcomed his weight.

His kisses grew frantic, driven, as his passion flowed like a torrent, and she was swept along by the current. She felt his hand on her waist and her body responded with an almost audible thrum, as his touch ghosted along the silk of her gown toward her breast. Her whole being focused on those long fingers she had spent so many hours mesmerized by. She found herself squirming, trying to hasten his touch, and he pulled his mouth away from hers and chuckled darkly.

"So eager," he purred. "I knew you would be."

His hand closed around it, and her breath came out in a long, slow sigh of satisfaction.

"Does that please you? I want to please you, Hermione."

"Yes," she moaned. "Please…"

"Oh, gods… Don't beg, my sweet, this will be over far too soon if you start begging before we've begun."

She didn't respond with words, she just turned and kissed him, as she unbuttoned his waistcoat with clumsy fingers, before reaching to untie his cravat.

He quickly captured her hand in his and kissed her fingers, before pulling her hand away and kissing her neck. The message was clear, and she didn't make a further attempt to undress him.

His lips scorched their way along her neck to her collarbone and then dipped lower down to the top of her breasts. He shifted his weight, and she felt him tug on her dress, it resisted his efforts until with the sound of a small tear, the bodice ripped and the last button came loose. He untied the top of her chemise as if unwrapping a present, and she closed her eyes, overwhelmed when he pulled it aside and revealed her nakedness to his gaze.

"So beautiful…" he whispered.

She kept her eyes clenched shut as she felt his hot breath across her skin. She was swept up in a whirlwind of need and ache and thought she might die if he didn't touch her there soon. She cried out when she felt his mouth close over her, and his deep growl of response nearly made her faint. She clutched his head to her breast and arched up off the cushions, dimly aware that his hands were pulling at her skirts.

He surged back up her body and claimed her mouth in a fiery kiss. She wrapped her hands around his back and held on tight as he settled between her legs. When he pressed his hardness to her center, even the layers of clothing still between them couldn't diminish the powerful reaction. She cried out and twisted up against him, and he moaned into her mouth and rocked against her.

It felt so amazing, so daring and forbidden and so unbelievably thrilling. She ground herself against him as he rubbed himself against her. Her need began to intensify, centering in this one illicit place on her body. _Everything_ centered on it.

His hands seemed suddenly everywhere, and she turned her head and kissed his jaw, licking and biting him, as her body began to thrum and vibrate. She felt his fingers threading their way into her unmentionables, untying the laces and pulling them apart. Another fleeting surge of panic was met by unabashed need and unwavering trust. Her head fell back as she began to pant. Skillful fingers found her folds, and she wailed and nearly threw him off of her, as she bucked up off the narrow couch.

He let out a ragged moan and began to whisper to her. "Come for me, sweet. Let me give you this… I've waited so long…"

She had no idea what he was asking for, but she did know that if he stopped she would die. In fact, she might just die anyway because surely paradise waited just beyond one more flick and caress.

The intensity built until she was shaking violently, arching her back and tossing her head as he bit down on her neck just the slightest bit.

"Oh!" she cried. "Oh, please… More! I need more… Oh…"

"Let go for me, sweet. Just let go."

She feared for the briefest of moments that she might burst…

…and then she did_. _

It was glorious. She felt as if her body exploded with pleasure and her very mind expanded beyond the confines of her head. She felt him slide his fingers inside of her and heard his ragged moan as if from far away. When she came back to herself, she looked at him and whispered, "More. I want more…"

His face seemed to scrunch up into a look of pained joy. "Oh, Hermione. There _is_ more. There's so much more I can give you…"

He called his wand to him and cast a quiet spell. Tossing his wand back to the floor, he kissed her with wild abandon. She pulled at his shoulders, wanting more contact, but he arched up off of her, and she realized he was fumbling with the drop front of his breeches. He settled himself on top of her again, holding his weight on one elbow, and kissed her again, as she felt his cock pressing against her.

It shocked her senses clear.

This was it. This was the point of no return. This was the moment when she whole-heartedly embraced the fact that she was a witch—regardless of her loss of magic—and in control of her own fate, her own body, and her own choices, or admitted she was only a Muggle governess and was about to allow her virtue to be utterly destroyed by her drunken employer. One more numberless casualty in the cruel conflict.

She looked into his face, and the raw need, the unguarded emotion, the unmasked soul she found looking back at her with a question in his eyes overwhelmed her doubt. This man desired her, above any and all others; there was no mistaking the naked desperation on his face. He didn't just want her; he needed her to want _him_.

She closed her eyes and replayed his ragged voice in her mind, saying, _'I have wanted you for so long.'_ She was sure that she had wanted him for far longer. There was no question of turning back now. This man was her life. This man was her everything. Beyond her ongoing battle between Hermione the Witch and Hermione the Muggle, she was first and foremost, the Hermione who loved this man right here.

She lunged up and kissed him.

He moaned and began to push inside. He broke off the kiss and pressed his head down onto the cushion next to her. She could hear his teeth grinding together, as he slowly sank himself into her.

She was lost in a mixture of thoughts and feelings. First, it was rather uncomfortable. Second, it was the most empowering sensation she'd felt since she'd first held her wand in Ollivander's shop. From the groans and gasps, she knew he was utterly enthralled. She wrapped her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms around his back as he worked his way deep inside of her.

"_Gods_," he groaned, through gritted teeth.

"Is something wrong?" she whispered, suddenly worried.

He let out a shrill laugh before lifting up his head and looking down on her. "_No_."

She wiggled, trying to adjust to him, and his eyes fluttered closed, as his mouth dropped open. He resumed his slow withdrawal, and then slipped the rest of the way in with a rough cry and went still. His entire body was trembling.

She felt incredible. She was filled with him and felt strangely complete and whole. She was utterly at peace with her choice. A buzzing started in the center of her being, and as he pulled back out, she cried out for the loss. He surged back inside and a wave of new pleasure flowed across her. She threw her head back and let out a deep moan that he answered in kind.

He set a slow and steady rhythm, and it didn't take her long to become frustrated with it. She pulled her legs down and braced them against the couch so she could thrust up to meet him, and he quickened the pace. Soon he was moaning and panting and she could feel the damp sweat seeping through his waistcoat and lawn shirt. She scrabbled at the fabric, dragging it up his back to cool him, and when she felt the hot silk of his naked skin, she let out a soft sigh. Her hands caressed his back everywhere she could reach and this drove him to even greater frenzy.

"Too much, my sweet! It's too much!"

"Oh, but I like it, sir."

His eyes flew open, and he looked at her with a trace of incredulity mixed with his lust.

"Bloody hell, woman, call me by my name," he growled.

She smiled, and knew it was more feral than sweet. "Severus…" she said, tasting the forbidden syllables on her tongue and finding them luscious.

His face changed then. It was as if something broke loose inside of him, and he began to burn.

He leaned down and kissed her, plundering her mouth with his wicked tongue, before pushing both of his arms straight and looming over her. His hips snapped faster and faster, and she felt the tension begin to build inside of her again. A subtle buzzing raced along under her skin and seemed to concentrate in her spine, building up and making its way slowly towards her head.

She saw him above her, moaning with his head thrown back and his face a rictus of pure sensual pleasure and thought she had never seen a sight more thrilling.

He was beautiful. He was magical. He was _hers_.

She felt herself tighten inside, as a new wave of desire flooded her frame, causing him to cry out again.

"_Gods!_" The word was choked out in a strangled moan, as he shoved himself deep inside and cried out his pleasure. She pulsed around him, pushed over the edge by the glorious sight of him reaching his peak.

He collapsed down on top of her like a felled tree. She held him tight, as his heart hammered and his chest heaved like a winded horse. He lifted his head from the cushion next to her and kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw and finally her lips. They shared a long, languid kiss, before he rested his sweating forehead against hers, still trying to catch his breath.

She smiled, feeling powerful and possessive and overwhelmingly _female_.

He shifted, pulling out of her with a quiet hiss, and pushed back until he was sitting up. He twitched her skirts down to cover her legs, before he made a half-hearted attempt to adjust his own clothes and button himself back up.

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair and stared down at the floor as his breath evened out.

She lay there, bemused by her happiness and overflowing with her love. She tugged at her dress, trying to fix her clothing, but was too preoccupied by the realization that the buzzing in her spine had not abated. In fact, it was intensifying. Was this another side effect to lovemaking? She sat up, clutching at the top of her dress, as the buzzing gathered strength. Her bones began to ache from the sensation in her back.

She turned to him, thinking to ask him if it was normal, and realized something was wrong. He seemed rather too far away on the settee and his face rather too ominous for what they had just shared. Was he affected by the same disturbing sensation?

It wasn't until he stood up and walked away, that she began to understand that somehow the dynamic had changed, and not for the better.

She held her bodice in place with one hand as she leaned over and worked her feet back into her dancing slippers. She reached over and gathered her gauzy pelisse and a handful of ribbons off the floor.

Rising up off the settee, she walked over to where he stood before the unlit fire, but his cold voice stopped her approach.

"It has been a day of much excitement, Miss Granger. You should retire." He braced a hand against the mantle and stood looking down at the unlit fire. She tried to see his face in the mirror, but his lank, sweaty hair hid it from view.

She stared at him in shock. What had happened? They had just—she looked back at the settee and then back at him, so stiff and unapproachable. How could he just disappear so quickly and still be in the same room? It was as if his heart had Apparated.

"Sev—sir?"

He waved impatiently at the door and dismissed her, saying, "You need to go."

She stood there, mute in the face of this cold abandonment.

She wanted to cry out to him, to plead, to somehow draw him back out from wherever he was slipping away to, but the pressure of her disappointed tears was conflicting with the buzzing that had now reached her head and together were creating a terrible migraine. The pain was becoming blinding, and she would soon be in no shape to launch an offensive against the seemingly unscalable wall that was his back turned toward her.

He turned his face toward her but stopped half way. "We will talk, but now you should rest."

Tears slipped from her eyes as her heart stuttered to a numb halt. She clutched her tattered clothing to her chest, snatched up a candle as she turned, and left the room quietly, feeling like her head was going to explode along with her heart.

* * *

I didn't say he would make a hash of things right away…


	38. Detonation

**AN**: I think I broke Mollysister. I really do. Oops.

* * *

Simon headed to his room feeling like he was floating on air. His Clara was the most beautiful, sweet-natured woman in the world, and he was the luckiest man alive. He felt as if there was nothing he couldn't do, nothing he couldn't accomplish. Fate had bowed down to his wishes and made them reality.

He smiled, knowing that there was nothing more he wanted. He was content. He had his beautiful Clara, and together they would help guide and support his young Nigel toward his own fate. Sometime in the not-too-distant future, he would have his own children to fuss over, and his life would be complete.

He sighed, savoring the taste of their first kiss, stolen in the garden earlier and swiftly followed by their second, third, fourth, and fifth, before he remembered he was a gentleman and put a hasty end to things. He'd been a little angry at himself for his lack of restraint, but Clara had assured him she had felt the same way.

There would be no long, drawn-out, engagement. They would marry in a few weeks in a quite ceremony, and then they would give in to their mutual attraction at the proper time. Until then, they had agreed they would not spend much time alone together. Neither one seemed very good at moderation.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of crying. He stopped at the head of the hallway and looked down the long corridor. Light shown from under the drawing room door, but the crying sounded farther down. He walked the carpeted hall until he found the source. Behind Hermione's closed door, he could hear a sound that was a cross between a cry and a laugh, slightly hysterical sounding, and occasionally muffled.

He raised his hand to knock, but stopped. One did not knock on a lady's door at such an hour. It must be nearly four in the morning. He looked back over his shoulder at the light coming from the drawing room and headed back that way. He turned the knob and pushed the door open to see Severus.

He was sitting in his shirt sleeves on the settee with his head in his hands and his elbows braced on his knees. He looked the picture of despair.

"Severus? Has something happened?" He walked farther into the room and closed the door behind him. "I heard Miss Granger weeping and I—"

Simon became aware that once the door was closed, the room became preternaturally silent. He looked about, and saw Severus's coat, discarded in a heap on the rug. He walked closer and bent down, picking up a silk flower and a hair comb. The flower was half purple and half gold, as if caught in a state between the two colors. He looked over at Severus and took in the state of his clothes, his half-tucked shirt, his rumpled hair. His heart started a slow steady thud as he put the pieces together with the wretched sound of Hermione weeping.

"_What have you done?_"

Severus finally raised his head from his hands and gave Simon a look of such utter misery that Simon's blood grew cold.

"Tell me this is not what it looks like… Tell me my mind is running wild…"

Severus just dropped his head back into his hands, and Simon nearly exploded from his sudden rage. "_Tell me what you've done!_"

There was no reaction. It was as if Severus wasn't even aware Simon was in the room anymore. This enraged him further, and he reached down and grabbed Snape by his waistcoat and hauled him up until he was staring into his beloved mentor's shocked face.

Simon realized he was taller than him. He'd never noticed it before. This man, who had been such a towering figure of esteem, was suddenly just a skinny man with a face full of shame.

"Tell me it wasn't Miss Granger," Simon hissed. "I may go to hell for wishing this fate on a housemaid, but I beg you, tell me it wasn't Hermione that you despoiled on a couch like a common bit of tail!"

Snape dropped his eyes and said, "I cannot."

Simon recoiled, pulling his hands away as if they were burned.

"You bastard," he hissed. His mind filled with the sound of her crying, and he snapped. "_WHY?_" he screamed. When no answer was forthcoming, he pulled his right arm back and swung.

Snape stopped him, catching his wrist mere inches from his face.

"You'll want to rethink that, boy," he snarled in a deadly voice.

Simon belted Snape across the face with his left fist, knocking him back onto the settee and throwing himself down on top of him.

A gentleman would have met him on open ground with fists raised and plenty of warning. This man here had taught him everything he knew about being a gentleman. It was as if, through his own despicable actions, Severus had called off all the rules. For the first time in years, Simon was glad he hadn't been born a gentleman. His sudden fury needed an outlet and this was it.

His head snapped back, he hadn't felt the blow as much as heard it ring in his skull, but he ignored it and drove his fist into the older man's ribs.

Simon may have been bigger, but Snape was feral. It took only moments for Simon to be pinned to the floor, with Snape, wild-eyed and kneeling on his chest, jamming his wand into his chin. His face was a mask of fury, terrifying and awesome. Simon truly saw the Dark wizard hiding inside his father all these years and wondered if it would be the last sight he saw.

"Why?" he asked in a soft voice. "Why would you do such a thing?" His voice rose of its own accord, and he grabbed at the wand, unable to dislodge it. "She cared for you. She has been nothing but good to you and this house, and _this_ is her payment? Why would you do that, you bloody _bastard_?"

Snape's face curled into a rictus of furious pain.

"_BECAUSE I LOVE HER!_" he bellowed. "Because I was drunk! Because I thought you were going to ask _her_ to marry you, and when I found out I was wrong, I lost my fucking head!"

Simon was stunned. His grip on Snape's wand slackened, and he grimaced in pain at Severus' obvious desolation.

"Oh, _Severus_… How long?" he asked quietly. "How long have you been in love with her?"

Snape pulled back off him and sat down hard on the floor, knees bent and arms resting atop them. The table had been turned over and the settee had been shoved several feet in their scuffle.

"I don't know," Severus replied in a frail voice. "When I examine that question too closely I find the answer terrifies me." He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and Simon watched the layers of pain, confusion, and self-loathing roil across his face. "She is all I have been able to think about for so long. I stopped lying to myself about my feelings for her when I thought you had fallen in love with her as well."

"_Me?_ Why didn't you say anything?"

"What was there to say? I would never stand in the way of your happiness, Simon."

"No. Instead you would let me trample your own and punish us by being a bastard. What a fool you are," he replied, sitting up and rubbing his jaw. Snape's blows had come so fast he barely remembered them. He leaned forward and plucked up another flower from the floor.

"Did you… _hurt_ her?"

Severus let loose with a horrible little laugh. "Not in the way you fear. If she is crying now, it is because I was… less than warm when it was done." He made a gagging noise in his throat, and said, "I panicked. I knew I was about to start weeping and make a fool of myself. I pushed her away before she could see it." He sighed. "I cannot win for losing." He shook his head and dropped his chin towards his chest.

"I did not force her, Simon. She… she _gave_ herself to me." Snape's face twisted with self-recrimination. "She's never denied me what I craved. As a child, it was respect, when there was none to be had. Then there was this unquenchable faith. She believed I was more than I was and there was no shaking her conviction."

He waved a hand back at the settee. "And then there was this. She _wanted_ me, Simon. She said she loved me. She looked at me like I was... God help me, I'm one and forty, and I still feel like that unloved boy." He dropped his head into his hand and shook it. "I lost myself. I lost myself, and I ruined her."

Simon wrapped his arm around Severus's shoulders. "But you love her, and I know she loves you. It can be fixed, can't it?"

Snape nodded his head. "I will ask her to marry me in the morning," he announced in a gloomy voice.

Simon looked at the miserable man and thought he'd begun to understand. "This is about that damnable Lily isn't it? Tell me you are not going to let that evil creature ruin another marriage!"

Severus's face contorted. "No. Lily is gone. Her ghost ceased to torment me when I fulfilled my obligation to her son." He dropped his head. "It's Elspeth, actually." His voice was a broken whisper. "I held Hermione in my arms and was so bloody happy and sated, and it was all so bloody wonderful and glorious, and I suddenly realized I didn't deserve it. How can I possibly be allowed to love and be loved, after denying Elspeth the only damned thing she wanted all those years? What if this cursed life of mine hurts Hermione as well? I wanted her so much, but I am the last thing she should have."

"Oh, Severus… You mustn't do this to yourself. You are so close to what you deserve after all this time!"

Snape raised his head up and stared at Simon with grief etched into his every feature. "She _died_ for me, Simon. She left you and the children because she couldn't stand the idea that I might have been hurt and alone out there somewhere, and she fucking _died!_ She lied to them to protect me! They cut her and beat her and severed her fucking spine, and she never told them a thing. She drowned in her own blood because of _me._" His voice broke, and he sobbed, "Because I didn't put enough effort into letting her know I was alive. Surely there was a way? I killed her, and I didn't realize that I loved her until she was _dead!_" He clenched his fists and pressed them to his eyes. "I didn't think it was love because what I felt was so different from Lily. Gods, I'm a fool. I was too stupid and too broken to understand the difference between love and madness. How could I tell? No one _ever_ loved me back until she came along, and I chose to think she was deluded."

Simon threw his arms around him, and Severus folded in on himself and fell against Simon's chest.

He clung to him and rocked as they cried for the lost woman with the powder-blue eyes and hair the color of wheat.

"How can I possibly be allowed to have Hermione?" he whispered. "Why couldn't I have just lied to Elspeth, if it was only going to become a truth in the end anyway? I hurt her, Simon. I hurt her more than the Death Eaters did."

"_No_. That's not true at all. She understood, Severus. She accepted what you were limited to. I won't lie and say she didn't wish for more, but she never regretted a thing. It was war. By all logic, you should have left us all to starve and stayed to your mission. You found a way to save us. She knew that.

"Between Napoleon and your Dark Lord, how many in Britain are mourning their dead still? You are not alone. But life goes on. Life _must _go on. How long did Elspeth mourn her Henry, before she threw herself into loving you? A day? A week? He was a bastard, yes, but she loved him once. She was a practical girl. She would not deny you this happiness."

Simon stroked Severus's hair out of his face and handed him his handkerchief as Severus straightened up. "It only comes down to whether or not you will deny _yourself _this happiness. You cannot marry another woman with a ghost shadowing your every thought. Not again. You didn't hurt Elspeth; Lily did. Don't let Elspeth hurt Hermione; she would have hated the very thought."

They lapsed into a long silence, until Severus let out a heavy, shuddering sigh. He turned to Simon and asked, "I assume Miss Clara accepted?"

Simon smiled and looked down. "She did."

Severus reached out and picked up Simon's hand and held it tightly in his own. "I'm glad. I'm sorry if this spoiled your moment."

"Oh, I had my moment. Never fear."

Severus gave him a half-hearted chuckle. "She loves you?"

"Completely."

"Good."

Simon clenched Severus' hand. "Hermione does love you. She told me so herself."

"I know. I could see it, once I was finally bright enough to trust." He turned back to Simon and asked, "How hard was she crying?"

"I won't lie, it wasn't good."

Severus turned away and stared into the distance. "I'm frightened, Simon. I seem to have a knack for killing the women I care for."

"The war is over, Severus. You saved whom you could. More than you should have. But you cannot save any of us from our ultimate fates. Everyone dies in the end, don't they? Elspeth's years with you might have been short, but they were the best she'd ever had. She told me so herself."

Severus sucked in a deep breath and turned his face toward the door, letting it out slowly. Simon was struck silent by the raw expression on the man's face.

* * *

Severus slipped into Hermione's room and found it in total darkness. The curtains were drawn tight against the night sky. He walked quietly over to the bedside table and was placing the vial he'd brought on it, when he realized the bed was empty. He straightened up and looked around, pulling out his wand and casting a quiet Lumos.

He found her sitting at her dressing table, and his breath rushed out.

She was calmly seated before the mirror with one foot on the seat cushion and her arms wrapped around her knee. She appeared to be naked, but for the loose dressing gown that had slipped off her shoulders and fallen halfway down her back. Her soft, pale skin was visible in the cold light under the thick, dark hair that cascaded around her. Her heart-shaped face, with her luminous eyes, was gazing at him without expression in the mirror. She looked every inch the wild witch she should have been.

He was struck with a desire so strong it felt more like pain. He was thankful for the potion he'd taken to help him over the effects of the alcohol he'd consumed; at least he wouldn't make things worse.

He cleared his throat and held up his hand. "I brought you a Healing potion," he said clumsily. "I was afraid—I thought I might have hurt you."

"You did," she replied in a cold voice, staring at him in the mirror with candid assessment. "But not in that way."

The guilt that speared through him _was_ pain. "I should go," he said, turning and hurrying back towards the door.

"Stay," she commanded.

He stopped in his tracks and turned towards her, with his face to the carpet.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered.

"I thought you would be eventually," she replied in an emotionless voice. "I thought it would take longer. Perhaps even a few weeks after I was gone."

His head came up swiftly. "Gone?"

She studied him without expression.

He didn't like the coldness of her face in the blue light of the Lumos, so he spelled the candle on her table into flame. She stared at the small blaze. The warm golden light revealed the swollen eyes and the tracks of her tears, now dried.

"You didn't think I would stay, did you?"

"Yes," he blurted. "I will go to the vicar in a while, when the sun is up. We can marry Monday morning."

"Is that your idea of a proposal?"

"Hermione—"

"The answer is _no_, Mr. Snape."

"What?" He stumbled forward until he was just behind her and dropped to a knee. "Hermione… I'm very sorry I hurt you. I was wrong. So terribly wrong. But I want to make it right!"

"By marrying me to protect my honor?"

"Yes!"

"No."

She gestured towards the candle and the flame snuffed out on its own, leaving them in the cold light of his Lumos again. He blinked.

"I am no longer a poor Muggle governess, Mr. Snape. I am a witch, and I do not need to marry anyone to save my honor."

He stared at the smoking candle until the small ember blackened and died. "How…?"

She gathered her dressing gown around her and rose from the seat. He followed her up, backing away.

"_How?_ How did I put out the candle? Magic, Mr. Snape. _My_ magic. I realize being able to snuff out fires with a headache isn't much, but it was what I started with before. Once I replace my wand, Uncle Mercury can help me with my studies." She tightened the sash and lifted her chin, staring directly at him with disdain.

He wanted to douse his wandlight—hide from that look in the darkness. Instead, he used it to light every candle in the room.

He met her stare and quailed. He could read her at last. Her eyes were truly a window to her soul again, and he could plainly see that her outer calm was a ruse. She was seething with fury.

"What changed?" he whispered.

"I accepted myself for who I really am," she said. "My _block_, Mr. Snape, was caused by my desperate need to be a good Muggle. Hiding my nature from first my parents, and then the world. In choosing to be with you, I accepted myself for who I really am. Uncle Mercury was correct. _You_ were my safe place. Acceptance was the key I lost. I freed _myself_."

She folded her hands together in front of her and tilted her head to the side. "And now I have accepted who _you_ really are. I admit I was a fool. I only heard what I wanted to hear. I told you that I had loved you since the Ministry Ball, and you told me that you'd _wanted_ me for just as long. I missed the part where it was apparent that you were only interested in sexual congress, despite Simon's warning that your heart would always belong to Lily Evans. But that is just as well. You have always been able to teach me the lessons I most needed. I shall always appreciate it and think fondly of you when I am gone."

_Gone._ There was that word again, stabbing him through the heart.

"You can't leave," he hissed.

"I can. I will spend the day packing and leave in the evening on the coach."

"No… You mustn't! Where would you go?"

"To Otterwold."

"This is foolishness!" he snarled. "You _must_ marry me!"

"Did you, or did you not, perform a Contraceptive Charm before the grand finale?"

"_Of course I did_."

"Then there is nothing to hold me here."

"But what about Grace? Nigel? How can you just leave them like this?"

"If you are going to try and hold me here by some Muggle standard of behavior, that is a poor excuse." She flung her hand out toward the windows. "Most governesses are tossed out of the home once the master of the house has had his way, because they are no longer suitable to be near his precious children!"

"_STOP IT!_" he shouted. "I did _not _use you for personal gratification!"

"Did you not?" she bellowed back. She barked a bitter laugh. "Well. That is, indeed, good to know. But even if you had, that would have been a far lesser offense than what you _did_ do."

He tilted his head, confused. "What else did I do? What could possibly have been worse? I don't understand. "

"That much is plainly obvious," she said in a voice trembling with rage. Her anger rose and the air seemed to crackle around her. Her face filled with fury as she shouted, "You cast me aside as if I was _meaningless!_" Her hands clenched into fists that she raised out to her sides, making her look like a diminutive Boudicca. "You had your way with me, for whatever motive, and then you turned away as if I was now useless!"

Snape raised a placating hand to her, watching as her hair lifted up around her face. His heart started to slam in his chest. Her magic had come back with a vengeance. Spontaneous magic was dangerous enough in a child. Hermione was no child, and Snape was afraid she could snuff out far more than a candle flame.

"Miss Granger, you must—"

"_Silence!_ I will be heard! You once told me that being extraneous to events in life was to be preferred. Well, to that I say, '_Go to hell, _Mr. Snape!' I have spent my entire _life_ being extraneous! You cannot know how that feels!"

He flinched from the pain in her eyes. He took a step closer and reached out to her. "I assure you, Miss Granger—"

"Don't you dare say you _understand!_ When you were a child you were a legend because they noticed you! When you were imprisoned, you had to fight because they noticed you! When you were in school you were bullied because they noticed you!"

He could feel magic gather around her as her anger grew.

"When you were a Death Eater, _you were noticed_, Mr. Snape! Lily noticed you. Elspeth noticed you. Harry Potter and that thrice-damned Voldemort noticed you." The magic grew so thick it became visible as it shimmered in the air. "No one ever noticed _me!_"

He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. "Hermione, listen to me, you must—"

"_NO!_"

She threw her hand up at him, and Snape felt himself lifted up and tossed across the room like a ragdoll. He slammed up against the wall. His legs nearly buckled out from under him, but he managed to remain standing as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his hair out of his eyes to see her bearing down on him. She was wild with years' worth of repressed grief and anger and beyond all reason. He lifted his wand but couldn't bring himself to use it. He had done this. He had brought this upon her. He deserved whatever she did to him.

The sound of pounding footsteps preceded the door flying open and suddenly Simon was there, standing in front of his father in his shirtsleeves, smelling of bruise paste, with his arms splayed to shield him.

"Hermione, stop!" Simon said in a firm voice. "You don't want to do—"

Snape saw Hermione's eyes and knew she wasn't even aware Simon was there. She was gone far into her own pain. He saw her arm lift, and he threw his own arm around his son, swinging him to the side as he raised his wand and shouted, "_Stupefy! Protego! _"

Simon and Severus were blinded by the magic that crackled against his shield as he heard her hit the floor hard. When it dissipated, the room was filled with silence.

Simon stood up slowly. Snape hadn't even realized he was still holding his son's weight on one arm.

"What the bloody hell was that?"Simon whispered.

Severus sucked in a deep breath before walking over and kneeling down next to her unconscious form.

"_That_ was a woman scorned," he replied.

Simon scrubbed his hand through his hair before coming over and kneeling down as well. He twitched her dressing gown over an exposed leg. His voice was thin and small-sounding, as he whispered, "Is she—"

"No. She's just sleeping until I wake her."

An even smaller voice called from the doorway. "Will she be alright?"

The two men turned to see Nigel and Grace peering around the doorframe.

"She'll be fine," Snape replied in a voice far more calm than he felt.

"What happened to Miss Granger?" asked Nigel.

"Her magic came back," he answered, as he scooped her up into his arms and stood. "It surprised her, and she didn't know how to control it."

He looked at Simon. "Take care of the children."

"Where are you going?"

"Manchester."

"Severus, don't—"

The rest of Simon's words were lost as Snape spun away to try and fix the woman he had broken.

* * *

Next one coming very soon...


	39. Understanding

**AN:** Have I thanked my Beta's lately? It would be a lesser work without them.

also, to MissMally, Holy cow of undead veggies? I am sooo stealing that.

* * *

Hermione woke up to the dull ache and hollowness she usually felt after a migraine. She instinctively turned her face away from the light and burrowed deeper into the warm arms that held her.

Realization dawned and her eyes flew open.

She lifted her head and looked around to find herself on the floor of the library at Spinner's End, with its myriad books, and the occasional abandoned tea cup. One of his winter cloaks was lying discarded on the threadbare settee, drooping to the floor as if it had succumbed to the pervasive sadness. From the light that snuck in between the drapes, she guessed it to be near mid-morning. She was lying cradled in Mr. Snape's lap with his knees drawn up and his arms locked around her, as he sat with his back against a bookcase. His eyes were slightly puffed and red-rimmed, and he had a large bruise on his cheek.

Memories slowly oozed back like thick treacle, and she felt her stomach heave at the hazy image of Severus flying across the room. She remembered her pain and anger building up into an uncontrollable rage and little after that.

She struggled, and he let her go quickly. She scrambled out of his lap and turned to face him, feeling distinctly at a disadvantage on her knees between his feet, as she tried to tighten the sash of her dressing gown.

She looked into his eyes and saw an intense grief that made her wince. They stared at each other for a long moment until he reached into his sleeve and pulled out his wand. He silently pressed it into her hand.

His voice was dry and scratchy and filled with shame when he spoke. "You are a formidable witch, to be able to conjure such spells without a wand, but in your ignorance, you risk hurting yourself more than the one you intend to harm. You need a wand to focus your powers. I would not have you hurt yourself when you take your revenge."

Hermione shoved the wand back at him and wiped her hand on her hip. "I don't want it! I don't want to harm you!"

"You would be within your rights."

"No," she avowed, shaking her head furiously. "I had no right to hurt you like that!"

He barked a short and slightly hysterical laugh. "Hermione, in the space of a handful of hours, I managed to drink myself nearly blind, selfishly disgrace you on the settee of a drawing room, callously crush your spirit, beat my own son, provoke you into a terrifying display of uncontrolled magic, and then _Stupefy_ you, all because I was overwhelmed by my _feelings_. And you say you had no right to your anger?" He shook his head and lifted a hand to her, before dropping it back in his lap. "You have always labored under the mistaken belief that I was a good man. Even after what I did to you, you still believe it. I can see it in your eyes."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You also held me while I slept for what is most likely a longer number of hours. Did you do that because you are a blackguard as well?" She closed her eyes and sat down on her rump, resting her chin on her knees. "You have always labored under the mistaken assumption that you were a bad man. Why is it so hard for you to believe that you are not? Why is it so difficult for you to accept that you are neither all bad nor all good? Just… complex?

"You suffer from a strange form of blindness," she continued before he could say anything. "You don't see yourself, and you don't see me. You see me as something pure and unspoiled, when in reality I am just naïve and frustrated and dangerously close to becoming a bitter old maid, with a nasty temper when provoked. You think you are the only one who makes a mess of things? I finally regain my magic, and the first thing I do is lose control of myself and toss you across the room." An image flicked into a memory, and she jerked her head up with sudden fear. "Is Simon alright?"

"He's fine," he said in a gentle voice.

"I'm sorry if my behavior towards him confused you," she said. "My only defense is that with the exception of Fredrick, all of my male friends have been Weasleys. They do not stand on ceremony. I was not aware of the inappropriateness of my behavior. I am very fond of Simon, he is very easy to like, but I never thought of him in that way. Nor he me."

He nodded and sighed. "I have been a fool. Simon was most expressive in his opinion of that fact last night. As for your actions, the return of your magic was unnecessarily traumatic, unstable and clearly self-protective. You were plainly beyond your limit and overwhelmed. You bear no guilt for that. I was thoughtless not to understand what was happening sooner."

He frowned and stared down at his hands. "Miss Granger—_Hermione—_I spent the first twenty years of my life being a selfish bastard, and the next twenty years of my life trying to make amends by _playing_ a selfish bastard. I do not know who I am any more. I do know that I don't want to hurt anyone. Especially those that I care about."

They fell into a heavy silence after that. He shifted forward, resting his arms on his upraised knees, with his booted-feet planted on either side of her. She dropped her chin back down onto her knees and watched his wand dangle from his fingers.

"You said you were overwhelmed by your feelings," she finally said in a soft voice. "What were they?"

He sighed and reached out and pulled one of her hands from around her legs. He held it gently, stroking his thumb against her knuckles.

"Hermione… I have been in love with you for longer than even I can say."

She stared at him, her feelings bubbling in her chest until it felt as if it would burst. He lifted his other hand and quieted her with a gesture.

"These last months have been a torment for me. I thought you and Simon— I thought I—" He sighed and tightened the grip on her hand. "You said no one ever noticed you, not even a villain. That was never true," he whispered. "_I _noticed you. I always did."

Her heart stuttered in her chest to see his look of pain.

He grimaced and pulled his hand back. "Not like this," he continued. "Not in this way. But I _did_ notice you, and I _am_ a villain, if that helps." He gave her a wry smile that looked more pained than humorous. "I wasn't the only one who saw your potential. Other teachers noticed you. Other students noticed you. You were never as invisible as you felt. You were just cloaked in my darkness."

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

He reached out and took her hand again, dropping his wand in his lap so he could hold it in both of his. "I _failed_ you." He shook his head and winced. "I inadvertently subverted your loyalty when I came to bring you to school. Had you not leapt to your impulsive conclusions about my better nature, you would not have been so alone in the school. I should not have told you to avoid Potter. Things might have been wildly different for you.

"I did so because I thought I was doing you a service. In hindsight, I was merely selfish. Not even my own Slytherins had such respect for me, and if you became one of Potter's associates, I thought I would lose that. I enjoyed your respect, and I was full of self-satisfaction for how I saved you from any connection with the boy. You were bright and clever and full of potential. Then at the end of the term, when I was made aware of what my fate was to be, I had no choice but to give up any aspirations I had to mentor you. I turned my back on you."

"But—"

"Let me finish," he said with the quiet command of a man used to being obeyed. "My mind was so heavy when you didn't return to school in your third year. You _were _missed. Weasley and Potter, even Longbottom missed you. I didn't even realize until this last year that the Headmaster was counting on me to bring you back to school. I failed you in so many ways.

"Even when I intended to push you from my mind to protect you, I did a bad job of it. I thought about you far too often during those years. I was selfish enough to even become glad you were gone, so you wouldn't see what a bastard I had turned into. It never occurred to me that you would pay such a price for _not_ being caught up in the madness. I imagined you being out in the world somewhere still thinking well of me."

"I was. I did," she whispered. "I wish… I wish I knew you were thinking of me. It would have made my lonely years more bearable. I felt so lost."

He reached out and stroked a finger down her face, and she leaned into his touch.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I wish I had spared you everything." He screwed up his face. "The school _was_ madness, Hermione. If you had been there, if you had been swept up in it..." His words trailed off as he closed his eyes. "I don't want to think about what you would have been exposed to. Dumbledore was too free with the lives of children. I wouldn't have been able to do a thing to help you."

She pulled his hand up and placed it on her knee, resting her cheek against it. "I wish I could have spared you any of the pain you experienced," she whispered.

He sighed and reached out and scooped her back into his lap. "Perhaps you did," he said into her hair. "Perhaps things might have been worse. We will never know."

She burrowed into his arms, and he held her tight, resting his chin on her head.

"Why didn't you ever tell me how you felt?" she asked. "Why the elaborate ruse, if you didn't need a governess?" She twisted her head and looked up at him. "I would have been amenable to you courting me."

He snorted and gave her a wry smirk. "I've never courted a woman in my life. I either loved them from afar, or paid them. To be truthful, I have never taken a witch as a lover. I fear I have been caught between the two worlds for too long." He sighed. "That's why I was so clumsy with you. I'm afraid I over-thought the situation and calculated badly."

He leaned his head back against the bookcase. She followed his stare to a tangle of dusty webs on the ceiling.

"Hermione, you always made me feel like your champion. It was the only time I was ever free to be one. What little services I was able to perform for you always left me feeling better about myself at a time when I couldn't have felt lower.

"When I saw you at the Ministry ball—and trust me when I say I _noticed_ you—you were like a beacon. I wasn't even ready to think of someone else, and you planted yourself firmly in my thoughts in a way I found perplexing. You had stayed a child in my mind for years, and then suddenly you _weren't_. I wasn't comfortable with that.

"I put a lot of energy into trying to make myself believe my thoughts about you were far more innocuous than they really were, but you wouldn't leave my dreams. Even when I was awake. That dance we shared was the most enchanting experience of my life. I relived it endlessly.

"When I heard about your misfortune, I thought it was my chance to become a hero to you again, but it didn't take long for everything to spill sideways. When I found a way to have you close to me, you didn't want one anymore. You didn't need one. You were your own hero. I was at a loss.

"It didn't take very long for me to realize that I didn't want to just fix your magic, I wanted everything. I wanted to talk with you for long hours every day. I wanted you to look at me with that ridiculous smile of yours at every moment. I wanted to hear you laugh, hear you question, listen to the sound of your mind at work. What was worse, I became fully aware of just how badly I wanted to pin you to the nearest mattress and keep you there until you were bow-legged, only I couldn't, because you were my bloody governess. I grew irrational.

"I have spent these many months trying to figure out how to get you to notice _me_."

She stared at him in amazement. "When did you realize you wanted me?" she asked.

"Your first day. In the carriage on the way to Wrenham Park from London. You are even beautiful when you sleep." He lifted his hand and stroked it through her hair. "And then when your hair spilled down that day… _Gods._ Do you know how hard it is to hide one's interest in breeches? I've been living behind my desk for a damned good reason. Wizarding robes allow a person far more dignity."

She shook her head. "You stupid man." She dropped her head against his chest. "This all would have been a lot simpler if you _had_ taken me to bed that first day. Or at least tried to steal a kiss. Ever since that day you came to ask me about the position I've have been at sixes and sevens trying to hide my attraction to you so you didn't sever what connection we did have."

He let out a small, irritated huff that she thought was the most adorable sound she had ever heard.

"If you had given me any sign that you thought of yourself as a witch, I might have. But you were so very Muggle. I didn't know which way to approach you. Before I had worked out a strategy, you and Simon seemed to have formed an attachment and I… I despaired."

She nodded and took his hand in hers. "I fear, like you, I have been caught between worlds, not wholly a Muggle, and not a witch either." She took a deep breath. "Last night, I decided to throw caution to the wind. I wanted what witches had, even if my magic never came back. I wanted you, and I didn't want to think about anything else." Her voice fell into a whisper. "After you rejected me, I thought I had disgusted you."

Her breathe rushed out as he crushed her to his chest and buried his face in her hair.

"No! Gods, no. You were so glorious. I never wanted you to feel that. I was just… I wasn't thinking clearly at all. I should have ignored you and gone to bed when you called me to the window. I would have found out soon enough what a fool I had been and had time enough to do things differently."

He fell silent, and she threaded her arms under his coat and wrapped them around him, laying her head against his chest.

"Why _did_ you push me away last night?" she whispered, finally finding the courage to ask what she most needed to know.

"Elspeth," he whispered back. "I was so full of elation that you were finally mine. I wanted to ask you to be my wife, right then and there, and then—" She felt him shake his head against hers. "And then I remembered how cruel I had been to my last one. I was…"

He pushed her back gently and swept her hair to the side and tucked it behind her ear. "I am sorry I hurt you. I was overwhelmed, and I did what I always do. I made a mess of everything."

She hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry you lost her, Severus. I can only imagine what you are feeling."

He sighed. "I won't pretend I don't have complicated feelings for her, Hermione, but I will never let her come between us again. You are the only one. Simon was wrong when he told you I was still in love with Lily. She is only Potter's to mourn now. If you will have me, I am entirely yours."

She smiled and leaned up, pulling his head down closer. "That makes me ever so happy," she said, as she kissed him.

With a rumble from deep in his chest, he kissed her back with enthusiasm, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and making her toes curl.

He broke the kiss and looked deep into her eyes and asked, "Then you will marry me? For love? I can still arrange it for tomorrow. It's only a matter of a few illicit Memory Charms."

She lifted up a hand and swiped the moisture off his lip as she replied, "No."

Hermione held a hand up in a useless attempt to forestall the temper she saw building with shocking alacrity.

"_No?_ What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I cannot marry you tomorrow, Severus. It would be indecent. I cannot marry you at all while I am your governess."

He tightened his hold on her arms, craning his head to stare hard into her eyes. "If you were not in my employ would you marry me?"

"Of course, but—"

"Then you're fired, Miss Granger," he said with a marvelous lack of logic, as he leaned in and kissed her soundly. She reveled in the effect his kisses had on her.

When he broke the kiss, he was watching her, seemingly mesmerized by what he saw.

She blinked several times and then pushed him away slightly.

"That will change nothing," she said. "But I did enjoy the attempt." She sighed and pushed out of his arms and off of his lap. "Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more appropriate than the floor."

He huffed, but the groan he let out as he gained his feet told a different story. He had probably been sitting there holding her for six hours or more.

He brushed himself off and led her to the small kitchen, where he went about fixing tea. After she had borrowed one of his discarded cloaks and dashed out to the privy in the backyard, she sat at the table and watched as he removed a Stasis Charm from the milk and poured it into two mismatched cups, before adding the tea. He pushed a chipped plate of sugar lumps toward her.

"I'm sorry this is all I have to offer. I don't spend much time here at all," he said in a stiff voice she assumed was tinged with embarrassment. "Only a few hours here and there to brew potions or read."

"Please do not apologize for your home, sir. It's more than I have, I assure you."

He winced and conceded her point with a nod.

"Please do not call me 'sir.' We have muddied these waters enough without the honorifics."

"_Severus_, then. A lifetime of habit is hard to break. You will have to bear with me."

He sat in the other chair and they sipped their tea in silence. When he set his cup back down, he sat back in the chair and stared around the gloomy kitchen with a faraway look about him. When his wandering gaze found her, he took a deep breath and lifted his chin.

"I must say," she interrupted with a small, playful smile, hoping to diffuse the tension, "you look like you are about to do something dreadfully Gryffindorish."

His eyes sparked with humor, and he gave her a quick smirk. "One must fight fire with fire, as they say. Obviously Slytherin tactics are lost on you, and I will not countenance further misunderstandings between us."

His face turned serious

"Hermione, you must know that now that I am sure of your feelings, there is no way I will ever give you up. If anything, this house brings to mind the price of living without love. Misery can replace it so completely that one cannot figure out a way to live without that as well. I will not live that way.

"I love you. I will make you a good husband. I will make you my life. I will help you with your magic. I will teach you whatever you need to know and find others to teach you what I cannot until you have achieved your dream. Added to that is the fact that I am worth over fifty thousand pounds. I can afford to buy you a new pony every bloody year if that is your desire. I will place nothing before your happiness except the needs of my children, and having watched you with them these last months, I do not foresee a future where that becomes an issue." He leaned forward and pinned her with a fierce stare. "I _will_ have you. There is no alternative for me."

His words washed over her like a warm wind, leaving her heart racing and her eyes filling with tears. She lifted a corner of the cloak she was still wearing and dabbed at her eyes.

"Severus, it would take me a lifetime to explain to you just how much you are the answer to all of my dreams, even without your pledges of honor and your fifty thousand pounds. I would be perfectly content to live in this house with you and never have more. I cannot find the words to express my adoration of your person, nor how much your words affect how my heart beats, but that does not change the fact that we would need to wait a suitable period of time apart before we could even announce a betrothal."

His lip curled and his eyes went flat. "I am not a patient man. I have no intention of waiting."

"Nonsense. You are incredibly patient when you need to be." His look turned stubborn, and she had to suppress a smile at the resemblance to his daughter after she had been patiently explained to again why she couldn't have another tart.

"I understand," she continued. "I myself find it most difficult to not have what I have wanted for so very long. Now that I know you want me as much, it is difficult not to throw decency to the wind. In fact, I find you look dreadfully distracting just sitting there. I want to embrace this thing we have found. I am infinitely curious, and you are obviously a willing subject of study."

"But we have to be reasonable," she said. "That house has lived with far too many scandals already."

"I don't give a tinker's damn about that house."

"I know that. But you _do_ care about Nigel, and it is his house. Think about it from the tenants' point of view. His mother ran off with the gardener. What would it do to his future if his step-father were to run off with the governess? What would the other families in the county think? Society doesn't care about mitigating circumstances, only scandal. We could ruin his future and taint Simon and Clara in the process, just when they are starting their lives on already unsteady ground."

His eyes closed, and he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and shoving his hands into his hair. She knew she'd won her point, but victory gave her no pleasure.

She reached across the small table and touched his arm. He grabbed her hand so swiftly she didn't have time to blink, before he pressed it to his cheek, turning and kissing her wrist.

"Tell me what you want done, and I will make it so," he said quietly. "If you want a year apart, so be it. But if you think I will confine myself to visits for tea and strolls in the park, you are laboring under false assumptions. I am not a gentleman, and you are not a Muggle. You are a witch. I intend to treat you like one."

The way his eyes seemed to burn into hers when he turned his head and looked at her, made her belly twist with warmth.

"I do hope so," she whispered in reply. "I would like that very much."

* * *

The resentment at having his desire thwarted, even if it was apparently only delayed, evaporated when he saw the look in her eyes. He could stare into her eyes forever. The mix of timid determination and building passion was a heady brew.

He stood up from the table and gently tugged her out of her seat. She came to him with a smile and a lip caught in her teeth. His belly tightened in anticipation as he pulled her into his arms and dipped his head down to kiss her.

He had spent his entire life wanting what he could not have. The very idea that she was here, in his arms, made him tremble. When her lips touched his, he thought he might actually grow faint. When her hands pressed against his chest, and then slid around him to hold him tight, as she deepened the kiss with a soft sigh, he stopped thinking at all.

He backed her out of the kitchen—it was a dreadful place for such things—and angled them more or less towards the settee. Then he broke the kiss.

"This is no place for this. This house is tainted. I want you in a bed, Hermione, where I can take my time enjoying your splendors."

She scrunched up her face. "If we return home, we will have to deal with others. I'm sure they are full of curiosity over where we are."

"They know we are here. It shouldn't be an issue. We have spent time here before. We could slip back. An hour or two ensconced in my bedroom shouldn't be noticed."

She shook her head. "Grace always goes in your room when you are not home, even when you are only gone for an hour. I would not feel comfortable at the prospect of the children walking in on us." She leaned up and kissed him again. "I find I am rather keen to begin exploring the benefits of being a witch, Severus. Can we not find a bed here?"

He kissed her thoroughly. His pride practically purred at her eagerness.

"No. There are only two. The one my wife died in, or the one my parents died in. The symbolism is distasteful."

She nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder. He held her against him and sighed.

"This is much more difficult that I had thought," she said with no small amount of frustration. "It is clear that we will have to make some sort of arrangement, if we are to be together." She pulled back and lifted a hand and caressed his cheek, pressing her breasts against his chest. "Until then, I would be perfectly happy on this floor. Or a stack of books. Or that couch, if it doesn't fall to pieces first like it is threatening to do. I care not. I just want you, and it is my understanding that now that I am a witch, I have a right to have you."

He slid his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks, pulling her against himself in a most satisfying manner. "The floor is out of the question. The settee _will_ collapse, and I fear making love on a stack of magical tomes could have unforeseen consequences. What would you say to against a wall?"

The delighted smile she gave him made his blood race. "Can such a thing be done?"

He smiled, knowing it was not the most pleasant of smiles, but she dimpled up in response. Such a Gryffindor, more curious and brave than decent. "There are so very many things that can be done, sweet. I will show you them all."

He kissed her then. Not a sweet kiss and not a tender kiss. It didn't seem a particularly loving kiss, although it was that. He kissed her with all the pent-up passion and demanding need that had raged inside of him these last months.

She answered in kind and before long he had her pressed up against the bookshelves with a Cushioning Charm between. He had opened her dressing gown and slid the cloak and gown off her shoulders until the fabric pooled around her elbows, revealing her perfect figure, as her eager hands unbuttoned his waistcoat.

She was so uninhibited. He marveled at the fact that there was nothing demure about her, now that she knew she was desired. She turned her whole mind towards him the way he had watched her turn her mind toward her lessons. She was determined, focused, and just as enthusiastic. He kissed her, flinching inwardly at how much time they had wasted. His shy little mouse had been an unnaturally repressed lioness after all. He had just been too mired in his self-pity to find a way to pierce her shell. All he had needed to do was let her know he cared.

He was nearly euphoric in his lust. No more misunderstandings. No more wrong assumptions. She wanted him, and by the seven hells, she was going to get him, and he was never going to be so brainless as to push her away to save his own pride again.

Her hands were tugging his shirt out of his breeches, and he had lifted one of her strongly muscled legs up around his hip and was kissing her neck when he felt his wards drop.

He had just enough time to shove her through the doorway back into the kitchen and snatch his wand out of his sleeve before his front door was kicked off its hinges.

* * *

It will be a minute before the next one. Everyone back to real life...


	40. Engagement

**AN**: okay, so in hindsight, that was an awful time to drop a cliffhanger. RL conspired to keep me and all my betas crazy busy these last few days. I solemnly swear to post these as fast as I can and not drag anything out any longer than has already been done.

* * *

Severus reacted; silently firing off his first spell before he even fully understood the situation. He screamed in horror as Simon appeared in the doorway, right in the path of his Reducto.

The air shimmered around his boy, as Arthur Weasley entered already casting Protego. Severus' spell ricocheted off the place where Simon's unshielded heart would have been and hurtled back toward him. Before he could protect himself, he felt Hermione's hand on his back and her shield enveloped him in a sparkling sizzle. The spell bounced off her defenses and hit the ceiling over his head. Plaster and bits of shattered oak beam crashed down. He turned and grabbed her, folding himself over her to protect her from the rubble, but none of it hit. All of it fell to the side of her shield.

An ear-popping silence settled with the last of the debris. Severus straightened up and turned to the small group of people in the doorway. Mercury and Alice Throgsbottom were also standing there with shocked faces. Simon looked bloodless, and Weasley looked determined. He hadn't lowered his wand.

"_What the bloody hell were you thinking?_" he screamed. "What the hell is going on?" He raced across the room and went to grab his son, but his fingers slid off him. He flicked his wand to cancel the effect, but Hermione's shield remained active. He turned back to see she had followed him across the room. She was standing directly behind him, her fingers near bloodless as they clutched his cloak about her. "Cancel the spell," he snapped. He turned back to Simon. "Are you alright? I could have _killed_ you!"

Simon's pale face infused with blood as his expression turned dark and thunderous.

"You do _not _tell me you are going to Manchester and then not come back! Not in that tone and not under those circumstances!" Simon shouted. "What the bloody hell did you think I was going to do? Sit at home with the children and wait to hear that yet another person we love had died? They are old enough to understand, you great arse! We have been _terrified _these last hours!"

Severus's gut clenched, and his mind reeled at his thoughtlessness. How much more damage could he do without intention? He threw his arms around Simon only to have them slide off again. He turned his head and snarled, "Cancel the bloody spell, damn you!"

Hermione's lip trembled, as she whispered, "I can't."

His fury snuffed out like a candle as he understood what had happened. She hadn't followed him across the room, she had enclosed herself inside the shield with him, and he had dragged her.

He handed her his wand, wrapping her fingers around it. "Just imagine the spell ended and say, '_Finite Incantatem_.' "

She clutched his wand, closed her eyes, and whispered the spell. The air around them popped. It had been a very powerful shield. The woman had amazing potential.

"I told you she was a witch," Throgsbottom said proudly to his wife.

Severus ignored the remark and turned back to his son, pulling him into his arms. "I am terribly sorry, Simon. When I removed the spell, she was so exhausted she stayed asleep for several hours. We have only had this past hour to finally talk."

Simon swiped at his face with a sleeve. "Is everything going to be alright?" he asked in a shaky voice.

Severus wiped at Simon's face and blew out a long breath. "I believe so, yes. How did you find these people," he queried, looking at the group clustered in the doorway.

Throgsbottom closed the door as best he could, holding it in place with a Sticking Charm, and Alice shimmied past them to wrap her arms around Hermione.

"I sent your bloody owl. How else? I may be Muggle, but I do know a thing or two after all these years. The only magic folk I knew were Hermione's relatives. I sent them a message and they showed up within the hour with Mr. Weasley, here. We arrived at the canal bridge." His shoulders dropped, and he scuffed the floor with his boot. "I might have let my fears override my common sense a bit by the time we reached the door."

"I'm terribly sorry about that, Severus," Arthur added. "We were under the impression you might have been badly hurt. I had my hands full with your wards when your young man grew impatient.

Severus gripped the back of Simon's neck, and gently shook him. "I might have killed you, boy. Why wouldn't you knock? You of all people should know that barging into this house is not the done thing."

"I was afraid," he replied simply.

"I'm sorry. I should not have left you twisting in the wind." He stroked the back of Simon's neck. "All is well. Things are not so bleak as all that." He patted Simon's shoulder, and then turned toward Weasley. "Thank you, Arthur. For your good intentions, as well."

"You know you need only call on me, Severus."

Severus nodded his head to the man, grateful for his words. It felt good to know he had people he could count on. People his children could count on. He scrubbed his hand down his face. He was still trembling from the shock and fear, but it was dissipating with each breath.

"Now that we are assured that neither of you has come to any harm," said Mrs. Throgsbottom in a flat tone. "We have the not unimportant issue of my niece's virtue to discuss."

"Alice, not now," said Throgsbottom quietly.

"Yes, now. I feel it is imperative," she retorted, giving Severus an assessing stare from head to toe.

Severus only realized then what he must look like, with his unshaven cheeks and his wrinkled coat, the open waistcoat, and his shirttail hanging out. His humiliation left him feeling curiously small, rather than his normal anger.

He turned to see Hermione look affronted and her aunt look… odd.

"It is obvious to all that you have thoroughly compromised my niece's reputation. I can see no recourse but for the two of you to marry straight away."

"Oh, I say," Weasley blurted.

"No!"Hermione cried pulling away from her aunt. "Alice, you don't understand!"

"Oh, I understand far more than you think, young woman. You have no say in this at all. Obviously you let yourself be led astray. The woman is almost always at fault in these situations."

"But I'm a witch! My magic came back! I don't have to marry at all if I don't want to!"

"We are all aware your magic came back, Hermione, and I am so very pleased, but if you think I will accept that argument, you have another think coming. You cannot spend your life being a Muggle and then decide you are a witch _after_ you have been debauched. Unless your magic came back before, and you failed to notify your own aunt?"

Hermione grimaced and shook her head.

"Well then. That's all the answer I need." Alice turned her back on Hermione. "What do you say, sir? Are you going to make amends and do the right thing?"

Severus raised one eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "It would seem that I cannot."

Simon took a step forward but Snape stopped him with a look.

"Very well, sir. On your head so be it. Mercury? Thrash him."

"Alice!" Hermione cried throwing herself between the two men. "Severus could wipe the floor with Mercury! No offense intended, Uncle."

"None taken, dear." Throgsbottom looked slightly ill, as he raised his wand and swallowed thickly. "Now, step aside, Hermione. As part of your family, it is my duty."

"Stop it! No! I won't allow it! Severus _wanted_ to marry me! I told him no! We can't! Not yet, anyway!"

Alice reached out and took her arm and dragged her out of the way. "You should have thought of that before you allowed yourself to be found alone in a house with a gentleman wearing nothing but a cloak and your nightclothes. Mercury? Have at him."

"No! You will get your husband killed!" she cried.

"Nonsense," Alice replied, holding Hermione in place with obvious effort. "Severus has no intention of defending himself. Do you, sir?"

Severus smirked. "None at all, madam."

"You see? Mercury will be perfectly fine."

Hermione finally seemed to realize she held his wand in her hand. She poked her aunt in the ribs with it and broke her hold, before she flung herself at Severus. She turned to her uncle and whispered, "Please don't."

Severus reached out and pulled her against him.

"Madam, I appreciate your efforts at trying to manipulate the situation in my favor, however I would say we are rather at cross purposes."

He slipped his wand out of Hermione's unresisting hand and held her as she trembled. Clearly, she didn't deal well with Slytherins. How her aunt had never ended up on her wrong side was beyond his understanding.

"Hermione feels we would harm my children unnecessarily if we were to rush into a state of matrimony. We have agreed to hide our understanding and then partake in a prolonged Muggle engagement for the sake of appearances."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Arthur said quietly.

"I'm afraid I do," muttered Simon, looking stricken.

"Oh, damnation," huffed Alice. "There is always something in the way of you two. I thought I had it fixed. This is most vexing. Well, at least there is an acknowledged future."

Hermione looked at her. "Then you are not upset about…"

Alice waved a hand in the air. "Pah. I'd have locked the two of you in a cupboard for a week if I thought it would have helped. I know you are a witch, dear, and I understand the implications of that. I'm rather surprised that you believed all that nonsense. I was never much for convention even before I met Mercury, and have no patience with it now." She sighed. "You do have a point about the children. I wasn't thinking things through far enough. I suppose a year wait won't be the end of us."

Severus scowled. Anything could happen in a damned year.

"I think the lot of you are stuck thinking like Muggles," Throgsbottom said in a quiet voice.

The entire group turned to him.

"If I am correct in my understanding, then Hermione's main issue is to spare your Muggle reputations. If you feel that strongly about each other, then you might see your way to the broader picture. You have both worlds at your disposal. You could marry twice."

"Twice?" Hermione asked in confusion, as Mercury's solution suddenly made Severus's heart race. He cursed himself for not seeing the answer sooner. He blamed his lack of sleep.

"Well, yes. You could marry now in a Wizarding ceremony and keep it secret, thus accommodating your need to be bonded together. Then you could marry again in a Muggle ceremony after an appropriate amount of time, thus fulfilling your need for discretion. There's nothing to keep you from seeing each other on a daily basis. Honestly. Must everything be so all or nothing?"

Hermione looked over her shoulder at Snape with eyes shining full of hope. "Could we do that?"

"I think it is a splendid solution."

Alice walked over to her husband and kissed him on the cheek. "Such a wise man I married." She turned to Severus. "She can publicly stay with us to maintain the illusion. You can have a suite of rooms to yourselves."

Severus nodded his acceptance and turned Hermione around to face him. "The first thing you will learn is how to Apparate."

"In time, Severus," Mercury said. "She needs a wand first, and then needs to relearn how to use it."

"Actually, it is my thought that she needs to get dressed first," said Alice with asperity.

"I think that it is more than time that we returned to Wrenham Park," Severus said.

Between himself, Weasley and Throgsbottom, they made short work of fixing the door and his partially collapsed ceiling.

"I would invite you all to luncheon, but I seem to have left another mess behind me, and I think we might need a bit of quiet to digest events."

"We understand," Alice replied. "As for your children, things are not as desperate as you might fear," she said reassuringly. "I took measures to ensure their peace of mind."

"I thank you, madam."

As soon as the others had left, he tightened his arms around Hermione and spun them into the black. When they appeared in her room, he held her until her dizziness passed.

He continued to hold her.

"Are you happy with the way things have developed?" He asked quietly.

"Yes, Severus. I am."

"Good."

He kissed her, turning it into a promise of things to come, and when he felt her go boneless in his arms, he ended it. The bed was far too close, and she was far too responsive for her own welfare.

He broke away and hurriedly put his clothing back in order, as she dashed over to her dressing table and snatched up a hairbrush.

A few charms to clean and press his clothes, and to change the color of his breeches and coat—other than having changed into his boots, he was still dressed for a ball—and he was more or less in order. He walked over and leaned his head into the mirror above hers before using a Shaving Charm.

"I will leave you to dress, my sweet."

"I will be ever so swift," she replied, as her hands stilled, and she looked at him with unfiltered love.

He stroked his hand across the top of her head. "Take your time."

He slipped out of her room and down the hall to the drawing room, where he could hear Grace chattering away.

He walked into the room to see Ginny Potter sitting on a stool with her fingers spread and a length of yarn wrapped around them. Grace seemed to be making a pattern as she pulled the yarn off onto her own fingers.

As soon as she saw her father, her stream of words cut off. His heart ached to see her face go blank, and the yarn fall to the floor, as she reached out and tugged Nigel's coat. The two of them walked quietly to where he stood in the doorway and just leaned against him. His stroked his hands through their hair.

Mrs. Potter stood up with a warm smile of greeting. "It is good to see you again, sir."

"And you as well. Thank you for looking after my children."

"It was my pleasure. They are enchanting. Your Simon said to tell you that he has gone to look for his fiancé and shall join you later. I shall take my leave as well."

"You are welcome to stay. I'm sure Miss Granger would be most happy to see you."

"Tell her I shall join her for tea someday soon, but for now, I suspect you have all had enough excitement for one day."

He nodded his thanks. "It has been eventful."

With a farewell to his silent children, she whirled away with a pop.

He bent down and wrapped his arms around them. "I'm sorry you were frightened."

Grace turned her face into his chest and started to sniffle. He stroked her back.

"Are you really alright?" asked Nigel. "Is Miss Granger alright?"

"Yes. We are fine," he assured them.

"Good. We were ever so worried."

"Yes," Grace mumbled into his coat. "You mustn't do such things again."

"I will endeavor to not do so in the future."

"That would be good of you, sir," said Nigel.

Severus hugged the boy tight and kissed the top of his head.

Grace squirmed around and looked up at him with a bright smile, her fear seemingly gone in an eyeblink. "Simon is going to get married! To my aunt! Isn't that marvelous!"

"Yes, I know, and it is."

"He said he won't go away either, like Aunt Kate and Aunt Mary did."

"No. Simon and his Clara will be here always. He would never leave you. Now, I have something I would like to talk to the both of you about."

He walked his children over to the chairs before the fireplace. He sat in one, Nigel took the other, but Grace wasn't ready to leave his side, so she perched on his knee rather than the stool Mrs. Potter had vacated. She lifted up her small hand and placed it on his bruised cheek. He took it and kissed it, before setting it in her lap.

"You see," he began. "Miss Clara has agreed to marry Simon, and Miss Granger has agreed to marry me."

Grace let out a small squeal of surprised excitement, but Nigel just bolted up from his chair with a very serious expression.

"If it is acceptable to the two of you," he said cautiously.

"I would like that very much," said Grace. "I think that would be grand! Then she could stay with us forever and never leave!" She hopped off his lap. "May I go tell her that?" She was running toward the door before he even began to reply.

"Grace, wait! She's still getting—"

His words were wasted, as his daughter's feet pounded down the hallway. He heard her throw open the door to Hermione's room and race inside with a happy cry.

He sighed and turned back to his boy.

Nigel gave him a shrewd look. "Was that the news you said she would share today?" he asked.

Snape winced, remembering what a fool he had been to think Hermione would be announcing a different betrothal altogether.

"In a matter of speaking. Things became rather muddled when her magic came back so suddenly."

"Will you be happy now, Papa?"

Snape pulled the boy closer. "Extremely. Well, my version of extreme happiness, which is not as obvious as your sister's. Are you alright with this?"

"I like her very much," Nigel replied evasively.

Snape saw the truth in the boy's eyes. "But she is not your mother…"

Nigel went silent, but his eyes filled with tears, despite his struggle, and he nodded. Snape pulled him close and, after a moment's debate, decided the boy wasn't too old for a lap. He picked him up and sat back.

"She never will be, child. No one could replace your mother, and I don't think Miss Granger would want that either. She will just be your Hermione, how about that. You can belong to the exclusive club that calls her by her name. I've only just joined myself."

Nigel let out a sniffled, "That sounds very acceptable."

Snape wrapped his arms around him and let him cry. He had no idea if he was doing the right thing or not. Common wisdom was that he was weakening the boy by indulging his tears, but Snape had spent his entire childhood wishing someone would care when he cried, and so he wouldn't allow his son the same agony.

It was why he let them crawl into his bed at night, despite the occasional elbow to the ribs, tiny cold feet, or his daughter's occasional ability to perspire until she'd soaked the sheets and woken them all up. It was why he let them learn by doing as much as possible and always tried to catch them when they fell.

The truth was, he had never had a clue how to be a father. And until Elspeth, he'd only ever had images and longings to tell him how a mother should have been. Ever since the death of his wife, he had done his level best to try and do what he had always seen her do, and she always touched them and always held them when they were sad.

"I think I shall like our Hermione very much," Nigel said, digging into Snape's pocket for a handkerchief and wiping his face. "After all, I think you are grand, and you are not my real father."

Snape swallowed thickly and tightened his arms.

"Tell me about my father," the boy whispered.

Snape sighed. There was no way in hell he would ever tell the boy the whole truth, but perhaps he could find a little truth.

"Henry Spanner was tall and strong and handsome, and other men liked him very well."

Nigel nodded, as if hearing what he had always known. "Tell me about your father," he asked next.

Severus snorted. "He was short and strong and ugly, and other men liked him very well also."

"And your mother?"

Severus blinked, growing pensive. "She was tall and thin and sad all the time," he replied in a quiet voice.

"So she was like you," Nigel said with quiet finality.

He was so caught off guard by this simple statement that it took him a full minute to reply. "Yes. I daresay she was... But I do not want to be sad anymore. I don't want you and Grace to be sad anymore either."

A small voice from across the room responded, "Miss Granger can fix that. I just know she can."

Severus turned to see Grace in the doorway holding Hermione's hand. His heart began a slow thump in his chest at the sight of his soon-to-be wife. He smiled and saw her teary eyes crinkle in response.

"I do believe she can, at that," he said in a quiet voice.

Hermione gave him a smile he would remember forever and said, "I shall try ever so hard."

* * *

Awww...


	41. Closure

AN: And another...

* * *

Severus stood off to the side in the parlor and watched Simon and Miss Clara Beaton together, as she played the pianoforte with earnestness, if not talent.

Simon looked so handsome, and Miss Clara looked radiant next to him. With her wheat-blonde hair and her powder blue eyes, along with her gentle manner, one fact became inescapable. Simon had found a little Elspeth of his own.

Snape berated himself. Of course his Simon would have fallen for the girl as quickly as he had. How could he have been so blind? He had to have worked exceptionally hard to lie to himself so thoroughly. Had he spent even one evening in the parlor after dinner he would have saved himself months' worth of despair.

He thought of Hermione, who had taken her leave for the night earlier. She was so very different from the other women he had loved. It hadn't even been a full day since she had first told him she loved him, and already she had taken over his soul. The idea was still so novel. So dreamlike. He was almost demented by his determination to bind her to him as soon as possible, before any further mishap could befall them. Which brought his mind to his other purpose in joining the rest of the family this evening.

He walked over to the couch where the Dowager was sewing, tapping her foot in time to the music. She looked up right away and gave him a wry smile.

"I had rather thought you wanted to speak to me about something, sir."

Snape merely raised an eyebrow and flicked his coattails out of the way as he sat.

"What made you so sure?"

"The jugged hare at dinner, which I thank you for. It was most excellent. Your cook far outstrips the last one. She is a diamond of the first water, when it comes to hare."

"Indeed. I found it almost palatable, myself."

"Miss Granger didn't. I fear she has no appreciation for the dish at all."

"I suspect not. It is about Miss Granger that I wanted to speak to you. I have a question on a point of etiquette that affects this house."

"Oh? She's not done anything untoward, has she? I would be shocked to hear that she had. I have the highest opinion of the girl."

"No. She has done nothing improper. I have the highest opinion of her as well, which is why she will be leaving Wrenham Park tomorrow."

He had to give the Dowager credit. She didn't take long to understand to dawn.

"How long has this been in the wind? I admit I had my concerns when she first arrived, especially when you housed her so close to yourself and Mr. Simon, however, in time I came to believe the arrangement was merely eccentric and not nefarious."

Snape scowled. "It has only 'been in the wind' a short time, thus the decision to terminate her employment to spare the house the appearance of impropriety."

"You are going to court her?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "Yes."

To his surprise, her reaction was a delighted smile. "Marvelous! She is a good girl. I think she might even be able to make you into a gentleman."

"I think such miracles might be beyond even Miss Granger's abilities."

Lady Wrenham let out a deep laugh and the music faded away in a jangle of notes. She flapped her sewing hoop at her daughter until she started playing again.

"How delightful," she said with a smile. "How good of her to find a way to escape her fate. Unless this was her fate? Oh, dash it all, I do so hate philosophy."

"Quite."

"Oh, don't growl at me, sir. I know what question you want to ask, and you must know the answer could be as long as a year."

Severus felt his stomach sink. Certainly they would be married in the Wizarding world before then, but the idea that it would be a year before they could stop hiding was unbearable.

"You said 'could be.' What would make it shorter?"

"Well, I could be persuaded to use my not inconsiderable weight to sway neighboring opinion. With incentive."

"Persuaded in what way—and if you say more jugged hare, I will think less of you."

"Good heavens, no. I was thinking more along the lines of concessions from you about my grandson. I have no doubts he is a fine and excellent child, but he is still lacking in small ways that will grow to be bigger ways later."

"Such as?"

"He needs a valet."

"No, he doesn't. He's not even old enough to shave yet."

"You see? That behavior right there is why you are insufferable. A valet does more than just shave and dress a person. The boy needs to get used to keeping servants. He might have stopped bashing them all, but he still treats them as equals. This will only confuse everyone later on if he doesn't learn to ease into the mind-set that comes with his title."

"Fine. If I provide him with a valet, how much time does that buy me?"

"I think I could be persuaded into making nine months acceptable in exchange for a valet."

"What else?"

"Both of my grandchildren need to spend more time with the children of the other families in the county."

"Perhaps Nigel, but certainly not Grace, and it would be unpleasant to separate them, I assure you."

"Why not Grace?"

"Let us just say I am still working on her manners and be done with it."

"I won't. She may be a little overly enthusiastic about her amusements, but her manners are fine enough for other children."

"No, they're not. She just knows better than to act up around you. I cannot be sure of her maintaining the same level of discretion around other children."

"What if I oversaw the provision of children's entertainments here?"

Snape grimaced. At least if it was here he wouldn't have to race around the country trying to figure out whom to Obliviate.

He sighed and said, "How much time have we shaved off now?"

"Another three months. I think that is as far as we can decently haggle. I don't see any way around a six month wait, not after everything we have been through. Even if you do mingle more with the neighbors—which will be imperative, by the way. I have been thinking that after Simon and Clara marry, I shall move into the Dower house. She could come and stay there with me, but not sooner than a month before the wedding."

Snape sighed and nodded his head. "It is better than I had thought, if not as good as I had hoped."

Lady Wrenham gave him a disarmingly warm smile. "So. It is a love match then?"

Severus huffed. "That is neither here nor there."

"Oh, but it is paramount. I would like to see you happy, Severus. For everything you did to ensure my daughters had a future, and for my Elspeth as well. You deserve to be happy, not just settled."

He gave her a questioning look but held his tongue.

"I know what you saved her from," the Dowager said in a voice almost too quiet to hear. "My husband hired a runner to go after her when she first left. It took the man a while to find her." Lady Wrenham closed her eyes briefly before lifting her chin and opening them again. "I know where she ended up, and I know _how_ she ended up. My husband used to torture me with the details whenever we were at cross purposes. Which would have been nearly every day of that last year.

"I wanted to think you were ignorant of her truth when you first came here those years ago. I wished you to be ignorant of her shame and so treat her as she should have been all along. After you left, I thought you were just an ill-mannered bastard. It was obvious my daughter cared for you and just as obvious you didn't return her regard. I assumed you had found out about her past too late and had been disgusted. I was devastated by her declarations of contentedness. I thought that if she was happy with you, then she must have truly lived through hell before you.

"Your manner when you arrived a year ago fed into my opinions most conveniently. It took me far too long to see the reality. I suspect you had always known her truth. You saved her anyway, and she loved you for it. Am I wrong?"

He shook his head slightly. "No," he whispered. "You are not wrong. But I could only save her the one time. I couldn't save her a second time."

Lady Wrenham reached out and clasped his wrist. "So you did care for her. That lightens my heart a good deal. You did what you could, and then you returned her to me. I thank you for it."

"Her loss weighs heavy on my mind, still," he said, shocking himself with his candor.

She squeezed his wrist. "You are a good man. Don't wallow in it. I always tried to teach my daughters to be practical—with mixed success. There is nothing to be gained from holding on to what cannot be changed.

"I think you will make a very good match with your Miss Granger, and I think you should set your mind to loving the girl. You will only be delaying the inevitable if you don't."

She withdrew her hand and turned to the young couple across the room. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, full of sadness. "I never told Clara about Elspeth. I shielded her as much as I could from the truth. Do you think I did the right thing?"

Snape studied the two for a while before replying. "You did. Simon knows. Let him tell her if she needs to know. She has time yet to be innocent."

"I wish she could stay innocent forever. Do you think such a thing is possible?"

"I do not know, my lady. I never had a chance to find out."

"Nor I," she answered softly. "Bah. Again with the philosophy. I am quite finished with it."

Snape smirked and stood up. "I, as well. I shall take my leave and bid you goodnight, my lady."

"Rest well, Mr. Snape."

* * *

Severus checked his sleeping children and then put a chiming ward on their doors, before heading down the hall and knocking softly on Hermione's.

He was as nervous as a first-year waiting outside the Headmaster's office. There had been no time for any further private discussion between them in what had been a seemingly frenzied day, and he wasn't sure of his welcome. She'd had a dreadfully eventful day and had most likely fallen asleep straight away.

He was about to turn away when the door opened with a quiet click, and she was there, peering out at him with a small smile on her face. She stepped aside and swung the door wide.

He hurried inside, and she closed the door behind him with barely a sound.

Now that he was with her, he was at a loss as to how to act. Should he sweep her into his arms? Sit and talk like a gentleman? A gentleman wouldn't be in a lady's rooms…

She fidgeted nervously, and he realized his lack of action was sending the wrong message. He reached out and took her hand, simply holding it.

"You look beautiful," he said awkwardly.

She was wearing a nightgown with a high collar and her dressing gown belted tightly over it. Her hair was braided down one shoulder, and her little slippers peeked out from underneath the yards of lacey, white cotton.

"You look beautiful too," she replied too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed.

"I meant to say handsome."

He tilted his head to the side. No one in their right mind could ever accuse him of being handsome.

She rolled her eyes and huffed. "The way you look at the moment makes my breathing shallow, my heart flutter, and my skin grow all tingly. If there is a word you would prefer to use, then please supply it. I like what I see very much."

"I do like 'tingly,' " he said with a smirk, as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheek.

"You look _very_ tingly," she said in a low voice, as she turned her head and gave him the sweetest little shy kiss.

He held her gently and deepened the kiss. There would be no rush tonight. No frantic joining on an uncomfortable couch, or against a wall. Tonight he would take his time and make love to her in a bed, just as he had been doing in his dreams for so long.

Her small hands roamed across his chest, and he felt that thrill he always did when someone willingly touched him. He wondered if he would ever become used to it, if being touched and admired would ever grow commonplace. It never had with Elspeth. He doubted it would with Hermione. It was his secret addiction. Perhaps he would one day admit it.

He slid his hand up and cupped her breast, and her little groan of pleasure sizzled through his frame. He reached over and slowly pulled the ribbon from her hair, breaking the kiss to take the time to unwind her glorious locks and run his hands through them.

She trailed her hands down his chest and boldly cupped him through his breeches, giving him a look filled with timid bravery. He kissed her, seeking out her playful tongue, while placing his hand over hers and encouraging her explorations.

The idea of not rushing was rapidly losing its allure. She intoxicated him beyond reason and almost beyond his self-control. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as he lost himself in their kiss. Her arms circled his waist, and she pressed her body against him.

Her hand slipped around to his chest, and he felt her tugging at the buttons on his coat and he quickly untied the belt to her dressing gown. He was so far gone that he wasn't aware at first that she was attacking the knots of his cravat.

His mind cleared in an instant, as panic intruded on passion. He pulled his hands away from her curves and grabbed gently at her wrists.

The frustrated noise she made actually sounded far too much like a snarl, and he pulled back and stared down at her.

"I want to feel your skin," she said.

"Perhaps, but you do _not_ want to _see_ it, I assure you," he replied.

"I know about your scar. I have caught glimpses of it under your chin. If I were the type of woman that swooned at the sight of an old injury, I doubt very much I would be interested in being a Healer. I want _you_, Severus. All of you. Your heart, your soul, your body, as well as your grief, your pain, your joy, and your happiness."

"You already have it," he whispered. "You do not need to see the remnants of a life I no longer live."

She sighed. "As you wish. But I feel you are denying me the chance to know all of you. To accept all of you."

He frowned, caught between two wishes. He _wanted_ to show her—the idea of being so totally accepted was tantalizing—but at the same time, he resented being pushed. He examined his motives and could only see his history behind them. With a sigh, he stepped back from her.

He couldn't help the scowl on his face as he shrugged out of his coat, dropping it onto the floor. If he were to lose her because of his ugliness, let it be on her terms.

He stared into her eyes as he began to unbutton his waistcoat. Next came his cuffs. That done, he pulled at his cravat, untying knot after knot, flounce after flounce, until he began to unwind it from around his neck. He pulled it off, and unbuttoned the high collar, pulling that away as well. He watched as her eyes widened with the expected shock and horror.

Angry now, he kept going, unbuttoning his fine, lawn shirt and pulling it out of his breeches, revealing not just his mutilated neck, with its purple ridge of scarred flesh jumping in time to his pulse, but the myriad scars on his chest and shoulders. He pulled the shirt off and threw his arms out to the sides, showing old curse wounds, far older knife wounds, and his greatest shame, his Dark Mark, faded again, but always visible.

She wept silently as her eyes took in everything, the burns, the scars, the missing patches of hair on his chest. She swallowed audibly and when she looked into his eyes she asked, "Are there more?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

He felt a curious warmth chase across his body and didn't know if it was shame, or something far less dark. He didn't know if he was trying to shock her, or himself, when he simply called his wand up from the floor and spelled off the rest of his clothes. He turned slowly, revealing his back and buttocks, with their tracery of white lines where he'd been flogged for stealing over thirty years before. They no longer reached from one side to the other, but that lack was more than made up for by the Dark Lord's idea of artistry.

He didn't realize he was breathing heavily, until he stopped completely at her first touch.

"What have they done to you?" she moaned.

It was too much. He whirled around. "Do you still love me?"

His blurted question horrified him, and he froze.

She bit her lip, nodding furiously, momentarily unable to speak. She finally gulped in a large breath of air and said, "Always. I will always love you! Oh, Severus. I wish I could take at least the memories away."

"You do, Hermione. You always have. When you were young, you made me feel like I was only a simple teacher, and not a man with a past. In later years, I clung to my memories of you to remind myself I had once made a difference in at least one life. And now… You make me a better man."

She placed her hands on his chest, tracing the lines with her finger tips and following each touch with a kiss. Curiously, he found himself suddenly self-conscious about the slight paunch he'd developed in this last year of peace, rather than because of his disfigured hide.

When she leaned forward and kissed his neck he shuddered. He grabbed her shoulders—whether to stop her, or to hold her lips tighter against him, he couldn't say—and kissed her forehead.

Her soft hands stroked along the skin of his back, and it was too much. He couldn't tell if he wanted to bury himself inside of her or collapse in tears. He tugged at her dressing gown until it fell to the floor and unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons on her nightgown, pulling it over her head swiftly.

She was flawless. Flawless and pure and sweet, and he had to have her.

He pulled her back into his arms, and they both softly cried out at the sensation of skin touching skin. He kissed her deeply and then swept her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

Once he had settled himself next to her, and had performed the necessary charm, he pulled her into his arms again and began making love to her.

Hermione aroused was a creature of incredible beauty. She was utterly without guile and sensually greedy. He was enthralled by her honest passion, and he threw himself into the task of bringing her pleasure as if his life depended on it. As he stirred her to greater levels of arousal, she demanded still more. He trailed kisses across her sensitive breasts and down her belly until he found her treasure. She nearly suffocated him when she reached her peak the first time.

She returned the favor with generous enthusiasm and untrained finesse until he practically dragged her mouth away by her hair to keep the night from ending. By the time he rolled over on top of her and finally sank himself into her, it was everything he could do not to lose control immediately, as she urged him on with her soft cries and moans.

He looked down upon her perfect body and pictured it swollen with his child. He wanted that. Grace had been three months old by the time he'd even found out she'd existed, and then she'd grown so quickly in his long absences. He'd always regretted not being there from the beginning.

He smiled to himself, knowing that the whens and wherefores of future children would be up to his witch.

He lowered himself and kissed her again, keeping his body close to hers, reveling in the sensation of her flawless skin touching his body. Her hands flowed across him like warm water, until his need for release was too much to ignore. He pushed up on his hands and drove himself into her in a frenzy of need and whispered her name as he spilled himself inside of her glorious body.

He collapsed down, catching his weight on his elbows before he crushed her. He rested his head on the pillow next to hers until his eyesight returned, and he was sure his heart wasn't going to explode. He twisted his head until he kissed her shoulder, making his way with little kisses to the pulse point at the base of her neck and then up to her chin. He opened his eyes and found her beaming at him, with that utterly absurd smile of hers.

"I love you," she said, echoing what he saw in her eyes. "I adore seeing you out of control with pleasure, and knowing I caused it. It is very empowering."

He chuckled darkly and leaned in and kissed her soundly. "I am most happy to oblige my lady fair."

He shifted to the side and pulled her into his arms.

"Hermione, I will not be able to bear this time apart from you."

"I will only be an Apparition away."

"You do realize I will come and snatch you away every night."

"That could be awkward if the children still come looking for you at night."

"I have ways of dealing with that. I am a wizard, after all."

She giggled and snuggled into a more comfortable position.

"May I ask you a question?"

He chuckled. "Why break tradition?"

He felt her smile against his chest.

"Would you really have let Uncle Mercury thrash you?"

He laughed. It wasn't a particularly pleasant laugh, he knew.

"I am sad to report that my need for survival far outmatches my need to be honorable. I most likely would have allowed him the first strike, but I doubt I would have allowed a second, whatever my intentions."

"But I had your wand."

"Hermione, I didn't have a wand until I was eleven, and I survived."

"Yes, this is true, and you did so very well."

"I wouldn't say very well, necessarily."

"You are here, in my bed, and we are to be married. I say that is all very well."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "I accept your definitions. They are far more pleasant than my own."

She twisted until she was facing away from him and nestled up against his belly.

"I do so love you," she murmured sleepily.

He wrapped his arm and legs around her, trying in vain to figure out what to do with the arm he was lying on. He finally slid it under her pillow. He fumbled with the coverlet and she reached out and grabbed his arm, leaning to place a kiss on his Dark Mark.

He wandlessly doused the candles.

"I love you, too," he whispered. "Ever so much."

"I know," came her soft reply.

* * *

Snape woke to a soft chime with all of his senses on alert. He looked around in confusion, realizing he had no feeling in one arm. He slipped it out from under Hermione's head, before dropping a kiss on her shoulder and leaping out of the bed. He grabbed up his clothing, and Apparated to his own room with a small pop. He had just finished throwing his nightshirt over his head when Grace wandered into his room, looking pale and frightened and half asleep.

"Nightmare?" he asked softly.

She nodded her head, as she walked past him and climbed into his bed.

He was sitting up reading a journal by candlelight when the other chime sounded. Nigel wandered in dragging his favorite pillow and stretched out across the foot of his bed without a spoken word. He most likely had never actually woken up.

Severus smiled.

Tomorrow he would have to set his mind towards figuring out how to change this habit of theirs, but for tonight, he felt rather content.

He flicked out the candle with a gesture, before rolling over and falling asleep.

* * *

Okay, one more and then the epilogue after this. I will post them as fast as I can, but it might be a day or two.


	42. Conclusion

**AN: **The final delay on this was actually due to a glitch on ff.n. Remind me never to say I will chapspam an ending again. Fate is a nasty, nasty creature. I have aged ten years in the past few days, as I tried hourly to upload the end of my story. I even attempted to post the last two chapters as a new story on its own, but couldn't. A special, heartfelt thank you to Skieblue, who posted a 'how to' fix on her Live Journal page, and to Roseofthewest, for giving me the heads up and saving me from the men in white coats. To any other authors still on the verge of insanity over the 'type 2 error' that some of us have been trapped by, send me a PM and I will tell you how to get around the issue.

* * *

"It's been here for ages. Useless, I say. Once in a blue moon, someone will take it, but it always ends up back here. Don't know why I keep it around, nasty, ugly thing. If you really want it, it'll be a Galleon. Sounds cheap, but you're not getting your Galleon back when you return it. You've been warned. Although with as old as it is, it will most likely fade before long."

"Here's your coin, good sir," Hermione said with a sniff, snatching up the handle on the box. "I'm sure I won't be returning at all, so I feel I have the better part of the bargain."

"As you say." The shopkeeper was already turning away to help another customer, before Hermione had even turned for the door. Wizarding manners were always so abrupt. She smiled, imagining Aunt Alice's impressions of it when she'd first encountered this world.

Once outside, Severus found her and bore down on her with a frown. "I thought I said I would meet you outside," he snapped. "I couldn't find you anywhere. Is it really too much to ask that you—What the devil is that?"

"You said I would need a familiar. I thought since I was waiting here, I would go inside and purchase one." She held up the box. "Isn't he lovely? He's half kneazle!"

"He's half dead. You can't be serious."

The marmalade lump of knotted fur inside hissed, clearly insulted by that remark.

Hermione crooned to the cat, sending Severus a reproachful look. "Kneazles live for a very long time, as you well know. He just needs a little attention, that's all."

"He looks as if he's already lived for a very long time," Severus muttered, taking the handle of the cage and lifting it so as to inspect the creature inside as he guided her along the pavement.

"Perhaps, but then he won't be the only older man in my life that I am rather fond of, will he?" she retorted with a smile, wrapping her hand around his elbow.

He sent her a look that was a mixture of annoyance and satisfaction.

"Did you get your Asphodel?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I did. Did you purchase any books?"

"Of course." She patted her pocket. "I had the shop girl shrink them down for me."

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She felt a shiver chase across her entire body.

"I finally am," she replied.

He smiled at her and pulled his arm in, trapping her hand against his side before making his way to Ollivander's.

If Hermione squinted her eyes, it was almost as if time hadn't passed. The smells were the same, the sounds were the same, and the proprietor looked exactly the same. He even greeted her as if she had just been in the day before and effortlessly remembered the specifications of her first wand.

The only difference was the look on the face of the man seated on the bench by the door. That was most certainly not the same. The first time that face had been full of annoyed duty. Now it was full of… mischief? She laughed when she realized he was dragging his wand along the bench and then scooting it away from the fuzzy paw that reached out of the cage to swat it.

She turned back to the counter when she heard Mr. Ollivander returning.

"Yes, I think this one will do quite well. You are obviously not the same witch and yet so obviously are. Vinewood with Unicorn hair, eleven and a quarter inches, slightly whippy. Excellent for Healing Spells."

He held it out to her and she knew that this was the one. The others she had tried had felt off somehow once in her hand. This one felt right before she'd even touched it. She lifted it up, and the tingles felt old and familiar. She gave it a flick, and multi-colored sparkles flowed through the air.

She tried to smile, but her lips wobbled so much that she wasn't sure what they were doing as she turned around with shining eyes.

Severus was right there, having come up behind her without her noticing. He smiled at her. Not a smirk, not a wry twitch of the lips, but a soft, gentle smile full of pride and affection.

"And now you are complete, are you not?" he said in a soft voice.

"Not yet," she answered. "Not until we are married next week, but it does feel very, very close to complete."

He nodded, his face returning to its usual expression, but his eyes still sparking with emotion, as he turned to Ollivander. "I think we are finished here," he said, handing him a small purse of coins.

"I think you are just starting, young man," the wandmaker replied with a wink. "Congratulations, and good luck."

"Thank you," they replied, as they gathered up her familiar and left the shop.

They landed in the parlor at Otterwold, and Grace and Nigel jumped up from the game of Exploding Snap they had been playing with Mercury to fuss over Hermione's new familiar. She set the box down on the floor and opened the latch. The cat walked out of his small prison with dignity.

"What's his name?" Grace asked, bending down and petting him.

"Crookshanks," Hermione replied, as the cat began to purr. "I think I shall call him Crookshanks."

* * *

This was it.

After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, her dreams had come true, and her future was finally here. She smiled at the memory of being smitten by the man as a young girl. She dabbed at her eyes and remembered the long, lonely hours spent in fantasies of this very man rushing to her rescue, saving her, and falling in love with her. It had all actually happened, although not quite in the wild, romantic rush she'd envisioned when she was still a young girl. She'd not factored in how much work she would have to do on her own to make it come true. But it had happened. He had come after her. He did love her... and he had even bought her a pony. She pressed her hand to her lips, trying to stifle the noise caught between a giggle and a sob.

"Are you ready?" asked Ginny.

"I am," she replied. "More than ready."

Ginny smiled and swiped a tear from Hermione's cheek. "I can see that. I'm so glad to see you happy. You deserve it. Harry is over the moon for you both. He thinks the sun rises and sets on Snape's honor and is pleased as punch that Severus and you have found each other." Ginny smirked. "I remember how often you used to scold me for disrespecting him when we were young. It makes this all feel like fate to me. How fitting that he should eventually fall in love with the one person who was always on his side during the war."

Hermione smiled. "Fate is a funny thing, isn't it? It never occurred to me before to be grateful that I couldn't finish my schooling. Had I stayed, he never would have seen me this way. I know him. He might have gone as far as treating me like a daughter, and that would have been that."

Ginny grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "I assure you, that is the furthest thing from his mind now. Look outside. He's practically smiling. Well, for Snape."

Hermione peeked from behind the curtain at Severus standing in front of the Ministry official with Simon and Nigel next to him. They all looked magnificent in their formal robes. The two younger Snapes could not stop playing with all the extra fabric and making faces at each other, despite how many times Snape scowled at them. When the music started they finally stopped.

So did Hermione's heart.

Ginny squeezed her hand one last time and then went to oversee Grace. The littlest Snape was dressed just the same as Hermione and Ginny, in low-waisted robes of honey gold. Hermione's were just a lighter shade and were embroidered with leaves and flowers around the edges of the long bell sleeves and hem.

She had blushed when Molly explained that they symbolized fertility. Creating children was a subject that she and her soon-to-be husband hadn't discussed yet. They had just practiced. A lot.

Grace headed out between the curtains with her basket of rose petals, and Ginny followed her a few heartbeats behind. Hermione took a moment to calm her pounding heart, and to wish, one last time, that her parents had still been alive, before she stepped out of the small tent herself.

The guests all rose from their seats, but she didn't see anyone but Severus. Good heavens, but she loved that man. Ever so much.

As the small procession reached them, Nigel stepped to the left side with Grace, and Simon went to the right with Ginny. Severus swallowed thickly, as he offered Hermione his arm, and she placed her hand on his wrist and stepped up next to him.

They turned to the official, but never took their eyes off each other.

She couldn't have repeated any of the words that were said. All she could hear was the soft sound of his breathing next to her and the pounding of her own heart.

When he turned to her and took her hand, sliding the little ring onto her finger, the look he gave her seemed to burn into her soul. He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand, before looking at the Ministry official and saying, "I do so swear," in his rich, clear baritone.

"And do you, Hermione Jean Granger, solemnly promise to love, cherish and protect your life mate, forsaking all others?"

"I do so swear," she said, turning back to Severus as he caressed her hand.

"Then by the power invested in me by the Ministry for Magic, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Hermione blinked from the sudden shower of sparks as Severus leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back as best she could with lips she could barely stop from smiling.

People started cheering and clapping, and Harry reached over and clapped Severus on the back. Minerva McGonagall was a mess of weepy tears, and Pomona Sprout was no better. Aunt Alice switched between looking like she was going to sob and looking like the cat that had found the cream, as Molly patted her on the back and Mercury dried her handkerchief with a spell.

Severus held Hermione's hand in a tight grip, and together they led the procession to the other pavilion that had been raised in the gardens of Otterwold and the accompanying feast.

* * *

He came through the connecting door in his dressing gown and nightshirt. They had decided to spend several days at Otterwold before he and the children returned to Wrenham.

She was already in bed with her hair plaited, although she knew he would unbraid it swiftly. He always did. She wondered how he would react if she told him she planned on cutting it all off as Alice had done. She knew she could do as she pleased, being a witch, but the idea and the execution hadn't quite meshed yet.

"Are the children settled?" she asked, setting her book to the side.

"Yes, and I have set a charm on their doors to send them to Simon if they wake up, although they have been rather good about not doing so, lately. It would seem they were convinced I was lonely, and so nearly all of their nightmares were fraudulent."

He dropped his robe and pulled the blanket aside, sliding into bed next to her.

"Did you enjoy your first wedding day?" he asked, pulling her into his arms.

She sighed. She didn't think she would ever get used to how marvelous it felt when he held her.

"I did. It was lovely. I hadn't realized you and Harry had become such companions. That was rather nice to watch. And I enjoyed seeing Ron and Luna and their little baby. They didn't wait at all, did they?"

"That is hardly surprising. Mrs. Weasley lost her mother very young, and Mr. Weasley comes from a family that practically begs for children. I'm only surprised they didn't have twins."

"Is that an option for a witch?" she asked, curious.

He laughed. "No. I was being facetious. Nature decides that, just as for Muggles."

She gave him a searching look. "Have you thought about if you want more children?"

His eyes went blank, and he took her hand and kissed it. She knew him well enough by now to know that look meant he had thought the matter through rather thoroughly but wasn't sure if she would like his answer.

"I understand if you don't. After all, you have three already and might want to have that stage over and done with…"

"No!" he said swiftly. "Gods, but it is so easy for us to misunderstand each other. I _do_ want a child with you. As many as you wish. I just didn't think you would be interested anytime soon. You must finish your education, and then start your training and then take the first steps in your career. That will take several years. There is no rush."

"This is true. But if you use the logic you used for Luna and Ronald, you will find similarities. I am not sure I will want to wait all those years. I know I have a long life ahead of me, but I do think family is important. And I know you do as well."

He smiled and kissed her. "I admit to being very keen on the idea of watching one of my children grow in your belly. But right now, I am more interested in only one aspect of procreation. It is, after all, our wedding night. We only have one more after this."

He pulled her up to lie on his stomach and smoothed his hands down her back until he cupped her bottom. Her body reacted instantly. The effect his desire had on her was always overwhelming.

She wriggled against his length. "Is that a fact?"

He leaned up and kissed her. "Mmmmhmmm…"

* * *

Severus was slouched in his usual chair with one foot up on a stool while Violet brought in the tea. He was playing a round of chess with Nigel, while waving a wooden sword so Grace could whack at it.

He was just about to move his rook, when a loud bang filled the room and everyone jumped. The chess set went flying, Violet clutched her chest and sat down hard on the floor, Grace let out a yelp, and Snape jumped up holding his wand in short-lived fury.

Hermione stood there proud as a peacock. "I did it! I actually did it!" She checked herself over quickly. "I think I have all of my parts. Oh, I'm sorry, did I startle you? How dreadful of me! I thought I would join you all for tea."

She helped Violet up off the floor with more murmured apologies, as Severus righted the chess board with a flick.

"I wanted to tell you that I am going tomorrow to get my Apparition license," she said with chagrin. "I am allowed four trial apparitions. I just used one."

"We can see that," he said with a smirk. "I'm very proud of you, but perhaps, in the future, you might try for slightly little _less_ determined. You only have to want to be there, not want it with your entire being."

She graced him with her ridiculous smile. "But I _do_ want to be here with my entire being."

He reached out and caressed her cheek. "And we cannot wait for your entire being to be here."

"Just a short while longer, Severus. Until then, I shall try to join you for tea every day."

"Perhaps we should practice Apparating a bit, yes? You might not always want to announce your arrival with such gusto."

"I'll say," muttered Violet.

* * *

Snape knocked on the door and when he heard the squeaked, "Enter," he opened it to find Simon strangling himself with shaking hands. He closed the door behind him and walked over and batted the younger man's hands away and neatly tied his cravat for him.

"Why am I so nervous?" Simon asked. "I'm going to have everything I want. This is the happiest day of my life, and I am frightened out of my wits."

"It's stage fright. It happens to people when they are about to perform."

"When will it go away?"

"Somewhere between kisses."

Simon barked a laugh. "I thought we were talking about the wedding ceremony."

"Don't worry about that. Just say 'I do so swear' and kiss her. Everything will be fine." Snape turned and brushed off Simon's coat before holding it out to help him into it. "About the kissing, is there anything I need to explain?"

Simon laughed again. "Hardly. I knew what went where long before you found me." Simon buttoned his dark blue coat, while Severus picked invisible lint off it and fussed with his collar. When he had finished, he turned to him. "Thank you. For finding me all those years ago."

Snape just nodded and kept his lips pressed together as he picked at the knot he had tied perfectly.

"I don't know how I could ever express how grateful I am," Simon said in a choked voice.

Severus grimaced and pulled him in for a hug. "You don't have to be grateful, boy. My reward has been large. Just watching you turn into the person you are has been an honor. You make me very proud." He pushed him away and pulled out his handkerchief, blotting at his son's eyes. "Perhaps—that is if you wish—you could someday do the same for some other street rat out there. You will understand then."

* * *

Snape stood in the doorway and watched the carriage leave with the newlyweds. Nigel and Grace raced after them laughing and waving, while Lady Wrenham stood a few feet away with her handkerchief raised.

Mr. and Mrs. Simon Snape would be spending two months in Brighton. It occurred to Snape that the house was emptying rather quickly. Lady Wrenham was already making plans to move into the Dower house and soon it would only be him and the two children in this enormous house. Granted, Simon and Clara would be coming back, but it wouldn't be the same.

"It's terribly sad to see them go, isn't it?" she said. "Even when that is what we have worked for these long years."

He turned to the Dowager, who was still waving.

"Indeed."

"It will be your turn next," she said wistfully, as the coach took the couple out of sight.

"Not soon enough," he muttered. Hermione had been here for the wedding yesterday, and he would see her again tonight, but the frustration was building. He wanted her here all the time. He _wanted_ her all the time.

He sighed.

Nigel and Grace gave up the chase and eventually headed off toward the stables. Snape stepped back and held the door open for the Dowager to enter.

"I think you have cheated on your side of the bargain, Mr. Snape."

"Which part?"

"This valet you hired for Nigel. I don't think he is a valet at all."

"What is the issue? Is Nigel not dressed properly?"

"The boy is fine. However, the word below stairs is that the 'valet' is highly strange and doesn't know his way around a manor. And what kind of name is Argus Filch, anyway?"

"What difference does it make? I didn't hire him for his name. I hired him for his character. He will be loyal to my son above all else. Is that not what you wanted?"

She gave him a level stare. "I know when hairs are being split, Mr. Snape. I might not be able to see them, but they are being split nonetheless."

"Nigel's valet is just the man for the job. You wanted Nigel to learn how to deal with servants, and I assure you, Filch is perfectly servile."

He tilted his head to the side and changed the subject completely. "How long have you been short of breath?"

She blinked, and then flapped her handkerchief as if to dispel a bad vapor. "It started in the Spring. I had my doctor to visit last week, and he bled me a bit. He said it's nothing. I'm sure it will be gone soon."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure. You will let me know if this gets any worse, will you not?"

"I dare say I can take care of myself. You meddle in enough things against your will. Stay out of my affairs; I'm quite capable of seeing to myself.

"As you say. My apologies. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some matters to attend to, since my assistant ran off with your daughter and has left me all the work."

She laughed and waved him away.

He found Filch his office cursing up a storm. He stood in front of several small wood logs on Hermione's desk with cravats tied around them.

"What is all this?"

"I'm practicing. I cannot tell what's the bloody difference between the Mathematical and the Irish." he said in despair, waving the small gazette in his hand at all the nattily dressed logs.

"Argus, that article is satire. Honestly, man. Get a hold of yourself. And what the devil have you been doing downstairs to make the servants suspicious?"

He colored and his shoulders hunched up. "I couldn't find the bloody restroom, and when I finally asked, they had no idea what I was talking about. They've been at me over it ever since. Water closet indeed. I'm grateful to you, Headmaster, but these Muggles have no concept of sanitation. Chamber pots? You must be joking."

"Do I look amused?"

"No, sir. I'll get it. Don't you worry about me. I just need more time to get used to these clothes and this house. I'll have his lordship right as rain in no time. Just as soon as I figure out these bloody knots. You may think this here is all nonsense, but these Muggle cravats are serious business. It says here a man's reputation could be ruined by a bad knot." Argus gave Snape's cravat a baleful stare. "You could benefit from a little more restraint, if I say so myself, Headmaster."

Snape pinched his nose. "First off, you will watch your language around my children. Secondly, the dimple goes above the fold on a Mathematical, and below the fold on an Irish, but the boy hardly needs more than a Barrel knot until he starts shaving, which won't be for years yet, so I think you are getting rather ahead of yourself. Last, you are not entitled to an opinion on my state of dress. You are not my bloody valet; you are Nigel's—until you get on my last nerve, are we clear?"

"Perfectly, Headmaster."

"And stop calling me that," he snarled over his shoulder, as he left to go check on his children himself.

* * *

"Drink this."

The Dowager stared at the noxious concoction in the small cup he had placed before her.

"I'm not drinking that; it smells repugnant."

"It tastes even worse," Snape replied. "Drink it."

"I will not."

"Fine. Be dead by Christmas then."

She frowned at him, and they stared at each other in silence.

Finally, she lifted the glass, held her nose and gulped the drink quickly. She gagged in a most unladylike manner.

"That, was by far the most foul substance I have ever imbibed. You, sir, have no shame. You could have at least put a bit of rum in it."

"Spirits would have altered the results. Also, in order for it to work, you need all of your blood. I have taken the liberty of informing your physician that he is not to grace our doorstep again."

"You are rather presumptuous with my health."

"Yes, I am, aren't I? Along those lines, I have decided you should delay your decision to move to the Dower house, at least for the next two months, so I can monitor your recuperation."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It is."

He snatched up the cup and stalked back out of the East Parlor, leaving her staring after him in confusion.

* * *

Severus left Violet looking after the children and Apparated to Otterwold. It only took him a few minutes to find Hermione in the drawing room, transforming a book into a teacup and back again. He nodded to Alice and Mercury, examining their latest find under a magnification glass.

Hermione turned to him with her blinding smile, but it faltered as she saw his expression. She was getting very good at reading his expressions.

He silently held out the letter he had received from Fredrick Janssen.

"Lady Granger has died," he said quietly. He wasn't sure how she would take the news. He knew she had no love for the woman, but she had a kind heart.

Hermione's face fell, and she read the letter, as Alice and Mercury came over to them. She looked up at him in surprise.

"She left me ten thousand."

Alice made a noise of surprise and placed her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I wouldn't have thought her capable." It was plain from the expression on Alice's face that her opinion of the bitter old woman hadn't changed.

"I don't want it," she said, thrusting the letter back at him. "It is blood money. I won't have anything to do with it."

Snape took the letter from her shaking hand and then clasped her fingers and tugged her into his arms.

"You don't have to," he replied. "You can give it all away if you like. You will never lack for funds again."

She folded herself into his arms, and he held her as she wept silently.

"I say you should clean the money," Mercury put in. "Donate it to a worthwhile cause. Do something good with it."

Hermione pulled her head away and turned to her uncle. "I think I shall." She turned to Severus and gave him a watery smile. "Perhaps I could open a soup kitchen in Manchester for hungry street rats. And a school..."

He smiled at her and stroked a hand down her cheek. Such a kind heart. "You could name it after your parents."

She nodded her head, and he could see it was as good as done. "I shall write to Fredrick and ask him to look into it."

* * *

Severus walked out of the church with his wife on his arm to the cheers of the entire village. He'd had McKenzie arrange a winter fair and the entertainments for the crowd were set to begin now that the short service was over with, so the well-wishers were particularly enthusiastic. The fact that the sawmill would be opening up in spring added to their merriment.

It took Severus and Hermione an age to make it from the steps of the church to the landau fifteen feet away. Along the way, they were hugged and patted by nearly everyone. He even received a pinch on the cheek from his former mother-in-law, who had declared there was no former about it. McKenzie gave him a thump on the back that nearly knocked him to his knees, and Simon had nearly cracked a rib with his hug, despite have been best man at his first wedding as well. Clara, swept up in the enthusiasm, had planted a kiss on his cheek. It was ridiculous. Even Mrs. Cropper, Violet and Mrs. Crawley, the cook, had taken liberties, patting him like a favored schoolboy, rather than their employer.

The only one who even showed a smattering of decorum was Filch, who was standing off to the side, although his dignity was lessened by the fact that he was standing with his cap in hand, weeping.

He looked at the crowd and winced. He was more or less responsible for nearly everyone present. Soon enough, it would be time to turn it all over to Simon. Then he could get down to the business of being Severus Snape again. As he pulled his wife out of another attempted embrace by a village wife and dodged another fistful of seed, he hoped that time would be rather sooner than later.

He helped his wife up into the open coach, where Rogers sat ready at the whip with obvious pride of place. Once inside, as Hermione twisted around to wave at Nigel and Grace, who were staying behind with Simon and his wife to attend the fair, he dug out his pouch of coins. Emptying some of it into his hand, he threw it over his shoulder at the crowd, who roared and cheered and nearly killed each other scrambling after it. He repeated the process two more times, and when the pouch was empty, he threw that as well, and the coach moved on.

Hermione tucked her arms around his and rested her head on his shoulder. She looked just the picture, dressed in ivory with her matching bonnet. The air was getting cold, now that they were removed from the crowd, and she surreptitiously slipped her wand out of her sleeve and cast a small warming charm on their seat. He pulled his arm out of her hands and wrapped it around her shoulders, kissing her thoroughly in the process.

"Are you sure you didn't want to go anywhere?" he asked her.

"Absolutely. Where could we possibly go and be happier than we are right here? I have spent too many months waiting to be able to live here again. It seems foolish to celebrate by going anywhere else. Aside from that, I know you dislike the idea of leaving your children, no matter how enticing the incentive."

The carriage hit a rut in the road as it turned onto the lane, and the two of them fell silent, as they looked at the vista they had first viewed together nearly a year ago.

"Do you still feel like you don't belong?" she asked. "Even after the warm regard from the people back there?"

"No," he said. He looked over at her. "I feel as if I could belong anywhere, if you are there with me."

She gave him a dazzling smile and a possessive kiss. "I defy you, good sir, to try and go anywhere without me."

"I don't think I have the constitution needed to undertake such an endeavor, my lady."

The carriage swept into a turn in front of the manor and came to a halt. Rogers leapt down and opened the half-door. Severus stepped down and turned, but instead of taking Hermione's hand, he swept her off her feet.

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

As he walked her toward the house, she said, "Thank you for finding me, and plucking me up, and giving me your name."

His heart twisted in his chest, before expanding to fill his entire frame.

"Thank you for letting me, Hermione. I know how cold my life would have been if you hadn't let me in. I will spend the rest of my life showing you how glad I am."

"I shall like that, ever so much," she whispered, leaning in and kissing his cheek.

He smiled at her and carried her across the threshold and into their new life.

* * *

Happy sigh.

It was truly a hell of a ride.

This chapter is dedicated to my best friend, Hebe, who handles everything that life throws at her with a determined grace and a fortitude that leaves me awed and inspired. Love you, Duck.


	43. Epilogue

**AN:** Thank you so much to all of my wonderful readers, both the lurkers and the wonderful, marvelous, creative, passionate and opinionated reviewers whom I have tortured most horribly.

I adore you all.

Ever so much.

A final thanks to my team: **Dressagegrrr**l, for her inspirational cheerleading when this was still a wobbly newborn. **Hebe GB**, for her above-and-beyond editing, Britpicking and Regency checking in the face of Life, Death and Taxes, And **Astopperindeath**, who was the last person standing between you and my attempt at puntuation. And errors you did find were due to my dreadful habit of adding bits just before I post, when no one can stop me.

* * *

"But why do you have to move out? I don't like it. I don't like this at all."

Severus looked at his son, shocked all over again by how much he had grown. Was his boy _taller_ than him now?

"We've been over this before, Nigel. Now is as good a time as any. You are heading back off to Eton in a few days and Grace is off to Hogwarts again. You won't even realize we're not here anymore. Simon will look after your interests while you're gone, and only Violet is coming with us. You will have Mrs. Cropper here to run the house in your absence. You have nothing to fear."

"But you won't be _here_. I liked it better knowing you were here while I was at school. It all seems different now. I just don't like it."

"Oh for heaven's sake," he huffed. "You can see the bloody roof from the window. We're only moving to the other side of a large lump of ground."

"Yes, but only Simon and I will be able to _see_ it! Everyone else will be Confunded or Obliviated."

"_Nigel_," Snape snarled, losing his patience.

"That's 'my lord,' to you." The young man smirked.

Severus knew the boy was intentionally treading on the thin ice. He'd been stretching his wings in these little ways for the last year.

"I'll put 'my lord' over my bloody knee. Don't think you are too old."

Nigel laughed. "You've never put me over your knee in my life."

"Perhaps if I had you wouldn't have grown into a cheeky little rogue."

Snape packed another handful of books into a box and shrunk it. Nigel slumped into the chair in front of the desk.

"Can I use this office when I'm at home?"

Severus sighed and came around the desk and dragged his hand through his son's carefully styled hair, making _him_ huff in annoyance. The boy fussed with his hair and gave an exasperated smile.

"Nigel, this office is yours. It always was. Well, when it wasn't your grandfather's bedroom.

"You must know I could not stay forever. In a few more years people will start to realize that I am not aging. It will be the same for Hermione. If we live in the Dower house, then you can come as often as you want, and when we come here, we can wear an appropriate glamour.

"Your siblings are creating havoc. If they're not levitating the furniture one day, the bloody walls are a different color the next. You know how much Simon hates it when I have to Obliviate his wife, and his children will soon be too old for the things they say to sound like the fancies of childhood."

"You wouldn't have to if Clara could keep a secret."

"Yes, but we all know she couldn't carry a secret in a bucket." He sighed and leaned against the desk. "It's just over that hill, Nigel. You can come over and spend all day with us when you're at home. You're sixteen, now. This will be good for you. You'll have a bit of freedom, and yet not so much that you'll feel alone. You will be able to have your friends from school come to visit without having to pretend your younger siblings are all ill. Simon will be here, Filch will follow you to the ends of the earth, Grace will never venture far from you, and I'll just be over there. You won't ever be alone."

"But that's just it," the boy said in a small voice. "I already feel alone. I don't like it when people leave. You were always leaving when I was small. And then Mother left one day and never came back again. And Lady Wrenham simply left after dinner one Sunday and went home and died.

"Every time someone leaves, I feel like I want to be sick."

Severus sighed and gripped Nigel's shoulder. "I know, lad. I wish I could tell you that what you feel is silly, but it's not. Someday someone else you care about willleave and not come back again. That's life, and life is a nasty lump of shite sometimes. That's why you have to hold onto the good parts and keep them as best you can."

Nigel nodded, and a moment later their interlude was broken by a shrill cry and the sound of little feet pounding down the hallway.

"Come back here! _Papa!_ They woke the baby and they have my wand!"

Severus sagged as the hallway was filled with whoops and cackles. A quick "_Accio_,"—followed by a disappointed squeal—and Grace's wand sailed into the room and into his hand.

"You and Grace were always so quiet. What am I doing wrong?" he muttered.

"Grace and I were always afraid," Nigel said. "I think this troup is beastly because you're doing something right."

Severus looked at his son, wondering for the millionth time when he had grown. "Your mother would be very proud of you; you know that, don't you?"

"I should. You and Simon say it three or more times a week."

Just then five-year-old Helen Joy, and four-year-old Laura Alice went thundering past the doorway, chased by a highly irritated Grace, holding baby Calvus John, and followed by a huffing Violet.

"When does Hermione get home?" Nigel asked.

Severus looked at the clock. "Her shift at St. Mungo's ends in about twenty minutes."

"We should have time to get them back in bed before she gets here."

"You must be joking," Severus said.

"Perhaps you could stun them?"

"Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. Hermione would have my head."

Nigel snorted as they headed after them.

* * *

Hermione sat down heavily on the settee next to her cat and took the glass of wine her husband offered her with a grateful smile. Her familiar didn't even open his eyes. He just set to purring as she scratched behind his ears.

She took a sip and sighed, lifting a hand and scrubbing at the short mop of curls on her head.

"Difficult day?" Severus asked.

"Extremely. There was an outbreak of Dragon Pox, five Apparating splinches—they get so distracted with the school year starting again—and three people came in with spell damage, one of whom was admitted. On top of that, I was in the middle of a conference on a case when my charm failed and my breasts started leaking." She flopped her head back against the cushion. "It was a frightfully busy day."

"And you loved every minute of it."

She laughed and held out her hand. He took it, kissed her fingertips, and then sat down next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

She beamed at him. "I did. It was marvelous. It will be even better next year when I certify as a full Healer. Then I won't have to keep finding someone else to sign off on my paperwork."

"And you won't be nursing."

"I don't know about that. I'm still thinking of making sure Calvus has a playmate."

"I think you should continue thinking. Your children are horrid little creatures. Even the baby. He's developed a highly annoying habit of wetting his lullies five minutes after he's been changed. I came home today to find Violet covered in orange and purple stripes. They have been running amok all day. I thought the little beasts would never go to bed. I have belatedly come to the realization that grandchildren are far more preferable. I just hand them back to Simon and walk away."

"You said that after Laura, and yet Calvus was your idea. I seem to recall a tone that came suspiciously close to wheedling."

He snorted. "Slytherins do not wheedle. We persuade."

"Ah. I see. I believe there are times when the difference can be so subtle as to not exist for us blunt Gryffindors." He scowled at her in mock offense and she rubbed her head against his shoulder. "Are you serious about having no more children? When I came home this afternoon to feed the baby, I had to pry him out of your arms."

"He was sleeping."

"He was gurgling at me," she said with a laugh. "You were sleeping."

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Today they were especially troublesome. If you ask me when they have been angels, you might receive a different answer."

"Then I think I might be waiting a long time before I ask again," she said with a laugh. "How was the rest of your day?"

He took a long sip of his wine and settled his head against the back of the settee. "I packed up my Potions stores at Spinner's End, but didn't trust being away too long for fear of what the girls would be into, so the library will have to wait. Tomorrow I shall start setting up my new lab. I cannot wait to move. The sooner we have a house-elf, the happier I will be. Even Violet has been muttering about wanting one, since I explained what they are."

"About that, I have been giving it more thought and—"

He blew out an exasperated breath. "No, no and _no_. We have been over this. They do not _want_ a wage, Hermione. They will resent your meddling. If you would just accept the status quo, life would be much easier."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If I had accepted the status quo, I would still be a Muggle governess."

"Yes, but you would still have been _my _governess, and I would still have found a way under your skirts eventually."

"Yes, but then I would have just been disgraced."

"Continually. I would have disgraced you as often as I could, until you had no choice but to marry me."

"You would have made a terrible rake, trying to despoil the maiden just so you could marry her."

"I never made any claims towards being a rake."

"You never made any claims toward being a gentleman, and yet you are the finest gentleman I know."

He smirked and kissed her on the top of her head.

"I saw you have started to pack up the office, as well," she said. "Do you think we are being ghoulish? Lady Wrenham has only been gone these four months, and I fear we are dashing into her house with too much haste."

"We have wanted that house for years now. It would only have been ghoulish if we had helped her into her grave so we could have it."

Hermione snorted and snuggled down into his embrace. "I miss her. She was formidable, but I did so like her. Nigel took it especially hard."

"Nigel doesn't do well when it comes to death, for obvious reasons. We spoke about it a bit earlier. I'm more worried about Grace."

"Oh?" _Finally_, she thought with a mental smirk.

"Yes. I think you should have a talk with her."

"Why?" she asked.

"What do you mean, why? Have you not seen her this summer? She's grown most peculiar. She swears she will never put off mourning, claiming she looks good in black. And her hair, Hermione! What the devil has she done to her hair? It used to be thick and curled like her mother's. Now she…" He waved a frustrated hand. "Something is wrong with her."

"Nothing is wrong with her. She is her father's daughter."

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"She wants to please you. She has realized that you are proud of how much she looks like you and is trying to accommodate your vanity."

"Accommodate my _vanity?_ By cutting her hair off at the shoulders and making it lank and greasy? Why on earth would she think that I—" His eyes narrowed, and he shifted to look her in the eye. "This is about the nose, isn't it? That cheeky little Slytherin. This is her revenge for the nose."

"Severus, you have a fine nose. Indeed, I adore your nose. It is a noble and _talented_ nose. But even you must see that it does not look particularly attractive on a young girl."

"Her face will grow into it," he huffed. "It is not nearly as bad as mine; she has never had it broken. She's too young to know her mind. I think it sets a terrible precedent to go about changing bits and pieces of one's face because one is dissatisfied. Where will it end? It is far better to accept yourself as you are."

"It doesn't have to be a permanent change. There are spells that can change it back to the original shape. We use them all the time when someone disfigures himself by accident. I think it would help her through her difficult years to feel good about her appearance."

"Why do I get the feeling we are now talking about your teeth?"

"Because, in a way, we are. You must have known I would empathize with her."

He scanned her face, lifting a hand and stroking her cheek as he did so. "You were in on it," he crooned. "The two of you plotted this out this entire summer, didn't you?"

Hermione hid her smirk with her wine glass, taking a deep drink as she tried to school her features. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, dear, dear, dear. I do believe my wife just lied to me." His eyes sparkled with promise. "That cannot go un_punished_."

She smiled as her body responded in a very predictable manner. She did so love this man.

"Let us discuss my sentencing later," she said in a lowered voice. "Right now, I think you need to make a decision about your eldest daughter."

He lifted an eyebrow and flicked his eyes at the doorway and then back at her. She nodded.

He smirked.

"Oh, very well," he said in an aggrieved tone. "You may fix her nose."

There was a squeal out in the hallway and Grace came dancing into the room, reminding Hermione of the little girl she had first met.

Nigel came striding in after her.

Severus' face grew serious as he stood up and looked at his daughter. "But no more. If there are any other body parts you take issue with, you will have to wait until you come of age." He grimaced and turned toward Hermione. "Except the hair. If you can fix the hair, do so."

Grace threw herself into her father's arms while jumping up and down. "Thank you, Papa! I won't change anything else, ever. I solemnly swear!"

He scowled. "Slytherins don't swear to anything unless it is life or death and there is no alternative."

Grace laughed. "True. But if I do take a solemn vow, I shall remember this day. 'I solemnly swear on the nose of my father...' It sounds like a most excellent vow. Don't you think so?"

Severus looked down at his daughter with his lips pursed. "No."

Hermione laughed, as she set her wineglass down and stood up, pulling her wand from her sleeve.

"Can we do it now?" Grace asked, her enormous black eyes dancing with excitement.

"We might as well."

"Will it hurt her?" Nigel asked, concerned.

"It will be tender afterwards, as it adjusts to its new shape, but the procedure won't hurt. Come over to the mirror," she said to the girl.

Grace pulled a miniature painting of Elspeth out of her pocket and handed it to her step-mother.

Hermione studied it carefully for the last time and then set it down on the mantle. With a few swishes of her wand, Grace's nose shrank, the hook vanished, and the tip turned up just slightly. Another flick and the girl's hair returned to its former ebony glory, cascading down past her shoulders to her elbows.

Hermione turned her toward the mirror, and Grace squealed with delight. "It is perfect! Just what I wanted!" She threw her arms around Hermione and squeezed her painfully tight, as Hermione hugged her back. She paraded her new nose in front of her father and brother and then dashed out of the room to go write to her half-dozen closest companions with the glad tidings.

Hermione grinned at her husband, but her smile faltered as she saw the sad expression on his face. "You don't really mind, do you?"

He turned his head from the doorway to her and shook his head. "No. I just didn't realize she wanted her mother's nose. You did a fine job."

Nigel clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. "Could you change my nose?"

Snape scowled at him. "What the devil is wrong with your nose?" He stabbed Hermione with a look. "This is the sort of nonsense I wished to avoid. They are too young to know their own minds!"

Hermione ignored her husband's escalating rant and asked Nigel, "What do you want it to look like?"

As she suspected he would, Nigel pointed at Severus. "His."

Severus shut up immediately and stared at the boy as if he had sprouted another head.

"I could tell the lads at school I broke it over the summer."

"I would not be able to fix it in the future without drawing too much suspicion and your children would inherit this nose, not the new one."

"I don't care," Nigel said stubbornly.

"Why don't we just see what it looks like? Try it out for a day or two before you make a final decision?"

He walked up and stood in front of the mirror looking, not at himself, but at his adoptive father behind him, who was still and silent.

In a matter of moments, Nigel was sporting a more masculine version of the nose Grace had just discarded. It was Severus' nose, just noticeably straighter. Hermione thought he looked rather distinguished. She left him to preen in the mirror, turning his head, this way and that, and backed over to where her husband was still standing motionless. She placed her hand on his shoulder and realized his was trembling slightly.

Nigel turned toward his father and planted his fists on his hips, striking a pose. "I think I look dashedly handsome now, don't you?"

Severus swallowed audibly before he walked over and pulled his son into a fierce embrace.

Hermione made her excuses and went to check on the rest of her brood to give the two some privacy. Out in the hall, she ran into Simon, carrying a sheaf of papers.

"How is the baby?" she asked. "Has the colic abated?

"She's splendid! In fact, she slept through the night last night. You have my profound gratitude for the potion."

"I'm glad it worked. Keep it nearby and use just two drops when she acts up. She might start reacting to something else and grow out of her garlic sensitivity, but Clara should avoid it for a good while yet."

Simon gave her a shaky laugh. "I think we've both decided to give garlic the cut direct for the foreseeable future. You would think we would be less panicked by the fourth baby, but…" He shuddered. "Well, we all survived, and I shall keep your potion close."

"Excellent. If you're looking for Nigel or Severus, they are in there," she waved at the drawing room door. "And if you want your nose done, I'm afraid the surgery is closed for the day."

His look of confusion was highly amusing, and she chuckled. Simon rolled his eyes at her and headed into the drawing room.

She paused and listened at the door.

"Severus, I have a list of furnishings you might want to go over in case you need any of it for the Dower—Egad!" Hermione stifled her impending fit of giggles. "Oh, I say, Nigel. You look rather sporting!"

"Thank you! Do you want one? I'm sure Hermione could change your nose as well."

"Good lord, no! I love the bastard too, but not enough to make myself look like I could chop wood with my face. Damnation, am I going to have to have Clara Obliviated again?"

* * *

Hermione tucked the blanket around Calvus and backed away from his bassinette. Her sleeping son was perfect in every way. Just like the others. Her daughters were already showing their intelligence, usually in mischief that made them all want to scream, but it was undeniably there.

She crept over and kissed Helen and Laura's sleeping faces, before setting a ward and backing out of the room.

Her heart was full. Her family brought her more happiness than she had ever thought herself entitled to.

Grace and Nigel had showed remarkable depth of character this evening, and she suspected her husband would bask in the glow for weeks to come.

She headed into her bedroom to find Severus pulling his shirt off over his head. He had already removed his boots and stockings, and so was now before her in nothing but his breeches.

He was flawless.

During the early days of her apprenticeship, she had learned a spell to reduce scarring. He had demanded she practice on him. She had been reluctant to do so, but he had been adamant. What were signs of what he had surmounted to her, were symbols of his many private hells to him. And so she had methodically erased as much of his terrible history from his body as she could. Curse scars were resistant, and so she had only managed to reduce them to silver lines here and there. The rest were gone. The whip marks and knife wounds, the hexes and jinxes, now only survived in his mind. She knew he would carry them always.

The wide silver slash, from his jaw to his collarbone was much changed from the thick purpled ridge it had been. She was rather fond of it, although he scoffed when she said as much. She was glad of it. It was a powerful symbol of how close they had repeatedly come to never finding each other.

She could never conceive of growing used to the sight of him. The fact that her professor was now her husband and lover still had the power to make her toes curl.

She walked over and ran her hand across his warm skin, eliciting a raised eyebrow.

"Were you never told that it is rude to stare, madam?"

Hermione blinked slowly and came back from her reverie. "I thought that was what one was meant to do when presented with art," she replied, kicking off her kidskin slippers.

He smirked, obviously pleased with her compliment.

She started unbuttoning the sleeves of her Healer's robes, but he reached for his wand on the table and, with a flick, she was naked. She laughed as her robes settled on the chair next to him.

"And now, madam, I believe we still have a matter of discipline to discuss."

She tried not to giggle and detract from the moment, as he walked over and cupped her face in his hands. He leaned down and kissed her, before pulling back and running his hands up into her shortened curls.

"About that spell you used to fix Grace's hair…"

She grimaced. "Oh, no, Severus. Not that. You know I cannot abide all that hair."

His expression was unrelenting. "I rather thought the nature of a punishment implied a certain amount of _suffering_."

"Well, yes, but I rather thought it would be more fun than this."

"This is what I want. You can save any other ideas for another time. I believe the theme of the day is altering appearances. Besides. I am well aware that you will just cut it off in the morning."

"I'll cut it off before I sleep," she muttered.

"You won't have the energy," he promised.

Hermione felt her belly swirl and reached her hand toward the chair and called over her wand. With a whispered spell, her head started to itch.

His black eyes drooped to half-mast, as he watched her hair flow down her face, twisting and curling on its way to her waist. By the time she stopped the spell, his face was filled with lust.

She couldn't help but smile at how much power she had over the man.

* * *

The air was filled with her soft cries, as Severus held firmly to the hips of his magnificent wife above him. He looked up at her with no small amount of awe. She always affected him this way. She was so bright, and pure and clean, and filling her always made him feel renewed again.

Seeing her with her head thrown back, her long chestnut curls wild from the pleasure he gave her filled him with an unquenchable hunger and a deep sense of pride. Seeing the effects his lovemaking had on her body satisfied him down into his soul. The thicker hips, and heavier breasts, the marks from carrying his children, all of it just made her more pleasing to his eye. It was as if she had absorbed his terrible scars and transmuted them into these glorious symbols on her own body.

She was perfection. He knew he was dreadfully selfish in his thinking. Her muttered complaints told him she saw herself differently, but he always quieted her with a kiss, and she never bothered to change them.

He groaned at her rising cry, thankful for Silencing Charms. She was so passionate. So demanding. So giving.

He was so in love with her.

What never failed to astonish him was that she loved him just as much. It was obvious in every look, every gesture, every conversation. She had made him her life, and yet still managed to create a life of her own. It was as if she was unaware she was supposed to have limitations, and so exceeded them every time.

Her pace faltered, her building climax inhibiting her coordination. He tightened his hands on her hips and thrust up into her, continuing the rhythm she had set.

When he felt her start to shudder, he growled. He lived for this moment. The most incredible sight in the world was when his wife broke apart in ecstasy.

She sank her teeth into her lip as her face scrunched up and relaxed in waves. The line between her eyes, which was slowly becoming permanent, deepened and her voice rose up an octave.

"Oh, Severus…" she moaned.

He plunged into her, lifting her and pulling her down to meet each stroke until her own movements were nothing more than clumsy attempts to keep up. When she threw back her head and screamed his name again, he moaned at her beauty.

He pulled her down before he felt the last of her shudders and rolled them over, kissing her fiercely.

He pushed up on his arms and lost himself in his own pleasure, passionately taking what she gave so freely. His release rushed up at him, and his voice broke, as he emptied himself inside her. He collapsed down onto his elbows and dropped his head down to touch hers as his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest.

Her silken hands ran along his sides and she gently placed kisses along his temple.

"Why aren't we one person yet?" she asked only in half-jest.

He laughed. "It's not for lack of trying."

He pulled out with a hiss and fell to the side, reaching for his nightshirt and tossing her nightgown into her lap.

When he could more or less breath again, he asked, "Do you think Nigel is serious about keeping that nose? I rather liked his face the other way."

She let loose with a throaty laugh. "I think he is serious about honoring you. If you let him off the hook, he will wear it for a few days and then allow me to change it back before he sets off for school."

"I shall talk with him in the morning, then. And it would appear that I am overdue for a long talk with my Grace as well."

"Not so overdue. Just due. It is a terribly confusing age. She will most likely need another talk at Christmas and another at Easter. Being the daughter of Severus Snape has its burdens, but for the most part, her issues are just normal for her age. Well, as normal as anyone in this family is."

When they were decent, he canceled the Silencing Charm and removed the spell from the door that always made the children go look for the next oldest child to bother instead of their parents. He pulled her into his arms, and she curled around him, placing her head in the hollow just below his shoulder.

"Could you imagine how dull we would be if we were normal?" he asked.

"Yes, in fact, quite easily." She rolled her head and kissed his chest. "I think we would be terribly bored."

"Agreed."

Their breathing synchronized, as he stroked his hands through her temporarily luxuriant hair.

He quietly murmured, "I love you."

She hugged him with one arm and a leg. "I know. I love you too, Severus."

He kissed the top of her head and pulled her tight against him, before flinging his other arm across his eyes.

"I know."

* * *

Severus woke with a thudding heart and found he couldn't move. He kept himself very still, as he oriented himself in the dark. He had no idea where he was. Nothing looked familiar.

He tried to reach for his wand, always under his pillow when he slept, but his arm was pinned down.

As he shook off the last traces of his nightmare, his eyes finally registered what they were seeing. The bedroom was different because they had moved, that was all.

The Dower house still took some getting used to.

He smirked. Obviously for everyone.

He shifted his arm out from under Helen and tucked the blanket around her shoulder, while carefully moving Laura's sweaty head off his leg. She'd managed to soak through the blankets. He lifted his head and saw his youngest son, sleeping in his bassinet next to Hermione's side of the bed. Folly, their house-elf, had a tendency to park the bassinet next to their bed if the baby was having an especially difficult night. Hermione must have used a Silencing Charm for Snape to have slept through the fuss.

He turned onto his side and wrapped an arm around his wife, palming a breast under the blankets as he planted a sleepy kiss on her short curls.

She sighed in her sleep, and snuggled against him, as he let his eyes slide closed again. In a moment, he was slumbering again.

Laura moved her head back onto her father's other leg and began to drool in her sleep.

* * *

And there you go...


End file.
